HAPPENED 
IN  EGYPT 


a? 


CifKULATihG  LIBBftBY 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIEGO 
by 

FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 

MRS.   EDWIN  W.   MEISE 

donor 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHORS 


LORD  LOVELAND  DISCOVERS  AMERICA 

ROSEMARY  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  FATHER 

LADY  BETTY  ACROSS  THE  WATER 

MY  FRIEND  THE  CHAUFFEUR 

THE  LIGHTNING  CONDUCTOR 

THE  GUESTS  OF  HERCULES 

THE  PRINCESS  VIRGINIA 

THE  GOLDEN  SILENCE 

THE  CAR  OF  DESTINY 

THE  MOTOR  MAID 

THE  CHAPERON 

SET  IN  SILVER 

THE  HEATHER  MOON 

THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 


'A  man  with  a  green  turban?"  I  repeated. 
"Well,  I'll  take  him" 


:VDT 


^^MEi--3      I 


.S'AM.Willi 


uorj-  of 

4  The  Port  of  Adventure' 
'The  Heather  Moon'JEtc, 


Garden  City     New 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  CO. 


Copyright,  1914,  by 
C.  N.  &  A.  M.  WILLIAMSON 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages 

including  the  Scandinavian 


TO 

D.   D.   AND   F.   C.   J. 

WHO    WERE    THERE    WHEN 

IT   HAPPENED 

WE    DEDICATE    THIS   STORY    OF    ADVEN- 
TURES   GRAVE  AND    GAY 
IN    EGYPT 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAG? 

I.     The  Secret  and  the  Girl 3 

IE.  Cleopatra  and  the  Ship's  Mystery   ....  19 

IH.  A  Disappointment  and  a  Dragoman      ...  38 

IV.    A  Man  in  a  Green  Turban 48 

V.     The  Cafe  of  Abdullahi 65 

VI.  The  Great  Sir  Marcus      .......  79 

VH.  The  Revelations  of  a  Retired  Colonel    ...  90 

VHL     Foxy  Duffing 102 

IX.  What  Happened  When  My  Back  Was  Turned  120 

X.     The  Secret  Monny  Kept 134 

XI.     The  House  of  the  Crocodile 150 

XH.     The  Night  of  the  Full  Moon 168 

XITT.     An  Underground  Proposal 188 

XIV.     The  Desert  Diary  Begun 195 

XV.  The  Desert  Diary  to  Its  Bitter  End      ...  221 

XVI.     An  Oiled  Hand 246 

XVII.     The  Ship's  Mystery  Again 257 

XVHI.     The  Asiut  Affair 270 

XIX.  "  If  at  First  You  Don't  Succeed "     .      .      .      .  283 

XX.     The  Zone  of  Fire 308 

XXI.     The  Opening  Door 321 

XXII.     The  Driver  of  an  Arabeah 334 

XXin.     Bengal  Fire 34S 

XXIV.  Playing  Heavy  Father  to  Rachel      ....  365 

XXV.  Marooned  .  389 


CONTENTS 

•CHAPTE*  PAGE 

XXVI.  What  We  Said:    What  We  Heard  ....  404 

XXVH.     The  Inner  Sanctuary 420 

XXVHL    Worth  Paying  For 437 

XXIX.     Exit  Antoun 456 

XXX.     The  Sirdar's  Ball 468 

XXXI.  The  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid      .      .  479 

XXXH.  The  Secret  493 


IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 


IT   HAPPENED   IN   EGYPT 
i 

THE  SECRET  AND  THE  GIRL 

THE  exciting  part  began  in  Cairo;  but  perhaps  I  ought  to 
go  back  to  what  happened  on  the  Laconia,  between  Naples 
and  Alexandria,  Luckily  no  one  can  expect  a  man  who 
actually  rejoices  in  his  nickname  of  "Duffer"  to  know  how 
or  where  a  true  story  should  begin. 

The  huge  ship  was  passing  swiftly  out  of  the  Bay  of 
Naples,  and  already  we  were  in  the  strait  between  Capri 
and  the  mainland.  I  had  come  on  deck  from  the 
smoking-room  for  a  last  look  at  poor  Vesuvius,  who 
lost  her  lovely  head  in  the  last  eruption.  I  paced  up 
and  down,  acutely  conscious  of  my  great  secret,  the 
secret  inspiring  my  voyage  to  Egypt.  For  months  it 
had  been  the  hidden  romance  of  life;  now  it  began  to  seem 
real.  This  is  not  the  moment  to  tell  how  I  got  the  papers 
that  revealed  the  secret,  before  I  passed  them  on  to- 
Anthony  Fenton  at  Khartum,  for  him  to  say  whether 
or  not  the  notes  were  of  real  importance.  But  the  papers- 
had  been  left  in  Rome  by  Ferlini,  the  Italian  Egyptol- 
ogist, seventy  years  ago,  when  he  gave  to  the  museum 
at  Berlin  the  treasures  he  had  unearthed.  It  was  Fer- 
lini who  ransacked  the  pyramids  all  about  Meroe,  that 
so-called  island  in  the  desert,  where  in  its  days  of  splendour 

3 


4  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

reigned  the  queens  Candace.  Fenton,  stationed  at  Khar- 
tum, an  eager  dabbler  in  the  old  lore  of  Egypt,  sent  me  an 
enthusiastic  telegram  the  moment  he  read  the  documents. 
They  confirmed  legends  of  the  Sudan  in  which  he  had 
been  interested.  Putting  two  and  two  together  —  the 
legends  and  Ferlini's  notes  —  Anthony  was  convinced 
that  we  had  the  clue  to  fortune.  At  once  he  applied  for 
permission  to  excavate  under  the  little  outlying  mountain 
named  by  the  desert  folk  "the  Mountain  of  the  Golden 
Pyramid."  At  first  the  spot  was  thought  to  fall  within 
the  province  given  up  to  Garstang,  digging  for  Liverpool 
University.  Later,  however,  the  Service  des  Antiquites 
pronounced  "the  place  to  be  outside  Garstang's  borders, 
and  it  seemed  that  luck  was  coming  our  way.  No  one 
but  we  two  —  Fenton  and  I  —  had  any  inkling  of  what 
might  lie  hidden  in  the  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid. 
That  was  the  great  secret !  Then  Fenton  had  gone  to  the 
Balkans,  on  a  flying  trip  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  It 
was  only  a  fortnight  ago  —  I  being  then  in  Rome  —  that 
I  had  had  a  wire  from  him  in  Salonica  saying,  "  Friends  at 
work  to  promote  our  scheme.  Meet  me  on  my  return  to 
Egypt."  After  that,  several  telegrams  had  been  ex- 
changed; and  here  I  was  on  the  Laconia  bound  for  the  land 
of  my  birth,  full  of  hope  and  dreams. 

For  some  moments  distant  Vesuvius  had  beguiled  my 
thoughts  from  the  still  more  distant  mountain  of  the 
secret,  when  suddenly  a  white  girl  in  a  white  hood  and  a 
long  white  cloak  passed  me  on  the  white  deck:  where- 
upon I  forgot  mountains  of  reality  and  dreams.  She  was 
one  of  those  tall,  slim,  long-limbed,  dryad-sort  of  girls 
they  are  running  up  nowadays  in  England  and  America 


THE  SECRET  AND  THE  GIRL  5 

with  much  success;  and  besides  all  that,  she  was  an 
amazing  symphony  in  white  and  gold  against  an  azure 
Italian  sea  and  sky,  the  two  last  being  breezily  jumbled 
together  at  the  moment  for  us  on  shipboard.  She  walked 
well  in  spite  of  the  blue  turmoil;  and  if  a  fair  girl  with 
golden-brown  hair  gets  herself  up  in  satiny  white  fur 
from  head  to  foot  she  is  evidently  meant  to  be  looked  at. 
Others  were  looking:  also  they  were  whispering  after  she 
went  by :  and  her  serene  air  of  being  alone  in  a  world  made 
entirely  for  her  caused  me  to  wonder  if  she  were  not 
Some  One  in  Particular. 

Just  then  a  sweet,  soft  voice  said,  close  to  my  ear: 
"  Why,  Duffer,  dear,  it  can't  possibly  be  you ! " 
I  gave  a  jump,  for  I  hadn't  heard  that  voice  for  many  a 
year,  and  between  the  ages  of  four  and  fourteen  I  had 
been  in  love  with  it. 

"Brigit  O'Brien!"  said  I.  Then  I  grabbed  her  two 
hands  and  shook  them  as  if  her  arms  had  been  branches 
of  a  young  cherry  tree,  dropping  fruit. 

"Why  not  Biddy?"  she  asked.  "Or  are  ye  wanting 
me  to  call  ye  Lord  Ernest?  " 

"Good  heavens,  no!  Once  a  Duffer,  always  a  Duffer," 
I  assured  her.  "And  I've  been  thinking  of  you  as  Biddy 

from  then  till  now.     Only " 

"  'Twas  as  clever  a  thing  as  a  boy  ever  did,"  she  broke 
in,  with  one  of  her  smiles  that  no  man  ever  forgets^ 
"to  begin  duffing  at  an  early  age,  in  order  to  escape  all 
the  professions  and  businesses  your  pastors  and  masters 
proposed,  and  go  your  own  way.     Are  ye  at  it  still?" 
"  Rather !     But  you  ?     I  want  to  talk  to  you. ' ' 
"Then  don't  do  it  in  a  loud  voice,  if  you  please,  because, 


6  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

as  you  must  have  realized,  if  you've  taken  time  to  think, 
I'm  Mrs.  Jones  at  present." 

"Why  Jones?" 

"Because  Smith  is  engaged  beforehand  by  too  many 
people.  Honestly,  without  joking,  I'm  in  danger  here 
and  everywhere,  and  it's  a  wicked,  selfish  thing  for  me  to 
come  the  way  I  have;  but  Rosamond  Gilder  is  the  hardest 
girl  to  resist  you  ever  saw,  so  I'm  with  her;  and  it's  a 
long  history." 

"Rosamond  Gilder?  What  —  the  Cannon  Princess, 
the  Bertha  Krupp  of  America?  " 

"Yes,  the  'Gilded  Babe'  that  used  to  be  wheeled  about 
in  a  caged  perambulator  guarded  by  detectives :  the '  Gilded 
Bud'  whose  coming  out  in  society  was  called  the  MiOion 
Dollar  Debut :  now  she's  just  had  her  twenty-first  birth- 
day, and  the  Sunday  Supplements  have  promoted  her  to  be 
the  Golden  Girl,  alternating  with  the  Gilded  Rose,  although 
she's  the  simplest  creature,  really,  with  a  tremendous  sense 
of  the  responsibility  of  her  riches.  Poor  child !  There  she 
is,  walking  toward  us  now,  with  those  two  young  men.  Of 
course,  young  men !  Droves  of  young  men !  She  can't  get 
away  from  them  any  more  than  she  can  from  her  money. 
No,  she's  stopped  to  talk  to  Cleopatra." 

"That  tall,  white  girl  Rosamond  Gilder!  Just  before 
you  came,  I  was  wondering  who  she  was;  and  when  you 
smiled  at  each  other  across  the  deck  it  sprang  into  my 
mind  that  —  that " 

"That  what?" 

"Oh,  it  seems  stupid  now." 

"Give  me  a  chance  to  judge,  dear  Duffer." 

"Well,  seeing  you,  and  knowing  —  that  is,  it  occurred 


THE  SECRET  AND  THE  GIRL  7 

to  me  you  might  be  travelling  with  —  the  daughter  of 

—  your  late " 

"Good  heavens,  don't  say  any  more!  I've  been 
frightened  to  death  somebody  would  get  that  brilliant 
notion  in  his  head,  especially  as  Monny  and  her  aunt  came 
on  board  the  Laconia  only  at  Monaco.  Esme  O'Brien 
is  in  a  convent  school  not  thirty  miles  from  there.  But 
that's  the  deepest  secret.  Poor  Peter  Gilder's  fears  for 
his  millionaire  girl  would  be  child's  play  to  what  might 
happen,  before  such  a  mistake  was  found  out  if  once 
it  was  made.  That's  just  one  of  the  hundred  reasons  why 
it  would  be  as  safe  for  Monny  Gilder  to  travel  with  a 
bomb  in  her  dressing-bag  as  to  have  me  in  her  train  of 
dependants.  She  telegraphed  to  New  York  for  me, 
because  of  a  stupid  thing  I  said  in  a  letter,  about  being 
lonely :  though  she  pretends  it  would  be  too  dull  journeying 
to  such  a  romantic  country  alone  with  a  mere  aunt.  And 
she  thinks  I  'attract  adventures.'  It's  only  too  true.  But 
I  couldn't  resist  her.  Nobody  can.  Why,  the  first  time 
I  ever  saw  Monny  she'd  cast  herself  down  in  a  mud- 
puddle,  and  was  screaming  and  kicking  because  she  wanted 
to  walk  while  one  adoring  father,  one  sycophantic  gover- 
ness and  two  trained  nurses  wanted  her  to  get  into  an 
automobile.  That  was  on  my  honeymoon  —  heaven 
save  the  mark — !  and  Monny  was  nine.  She  has  other 
ways  now  of  getting  what  she  wants,  but  they're  even 
more  effective.  I  laughed  at  her  that  first  time,  and 
she  was  so  surprised  at  my  impudence  she  took  a  violent 
fancy  to  me.  But  I  don't  always  laugh  at  her  now.  Oh, 
she's  a  perfect  terror,  I  assure  you  —  and  a  still  more 
perfect  darling!  Such  an  angel  of  charity  to  the  poor, 


8  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

such  a  demon  of  obstinacy  with  the  rich!  I  worship 
her.  So  does  Cleopatra.  So  does  everybody  who 
doesn't  hate  her.  So  will  you  the  minute  you've  been 
introduced.  And  by  the  way,  why  not?  Why  shouldn't 
I  make  myself  useful  for  once  by  arranging  a  match 
between  Rosamond  Gilder,  the  prettiest  heiress  in 
America,  and  Lord  Ernest  Borrow,  of  the  oldest  family 
in  Ireland?" 

"And  the  poorest." 

"All  the  more  reason  why.     Don't  you  see?  " 

"She  mightn't." 

"Well,  what's  the  good  of  her  having  all  that  money 
if  she  doesn't  get  hold  of  a  really  grand  title  to  hang  it  on? 
I  shall  tell  her  that  Borrow  comes  down  from  Boru, 
Brian  Boru  the  rightful  King  of  Ireland :  and  when  your 
brother  dies  you'll  be  Marquis  of  Killeena." 

"He'll  not  die  for  thirty  or  forty  years,  let's  hope." 

"Why  hope  it,  when  he  likes  nobody  and  nobody  likes 
him,  and  everybody  likes  you?  He  can't  be  happy. 
And  anyhow,  isn't  it  worth  a  few  millions  to  be  Lady 
Ernest  Borrow,  and  have  the  privilege  of  restoring  the 
most  beautiful  old  castle  in  Ireland?  I'm  sure  Killeena 
would  let  her." 

"He  would,  out  of  sheer,  weak  kindness  of  heart! 
But  she's  far  too  thickly  gilded  an  heiress  for  me  to 
aspire  to.  A  few  thousands  a  year  is  my  most  ambitious 
figure  for  a  wife.  Look  at  the  men  collecting  around  her 
and  the  wonderful  lady  you  call  Cleopatra.  Why  Cleo- 
patra? Did  sponsors  in  baptism " 

"No,  they  didn't.  Why  she's  Cleopatra  is  as  weird 
a  history  as  why  I'm  Mrs.  Jones.  But  she's  Monny's 


THE  SECRET  AND  THE  GIRL  9 

aunt  —  at  least,  she's  a  half-sister  of  Peter  Gilder,  and 
as  his  only  living  relative  his  will  makes  her  Monny '& 
guardian  till  the  girl  marries  or  reaches  twenty-five. 
A  strange  guardian!  But  he  didn't  know  she  was  going 
to  turn  into  Cleopatra.  She  wisely  waited  to  do  that 
until  he  was  dead;  so  it  came  on  only  a  year  ago.  It  was 
a  Bond  Street  crystal-gazer  transplanted  to  Fifth  Avenue 
told  her  who  she  really  was:  you  know  Say  da  Sabri,  the 
woman  who  has  the  illuminated  mummy?  It's  Cleopa- 
tra's idea  that  Monny's  second  mourning  for  Peter 
should  be  white,  nothing  but  white." 

"Her  idea!  But  I  thought  Miss  Monny,  as  you  call 
her,  adopted  only  her  own  ideas.  How  can  a  mere 
half-aunt,  labouring  under  the  name  of  Cleopatra, 
force  her " 

"Well,  you  see,  white's  very  becoming;  and  as  for  the 
Cleopatra  part,  it  pleases  our  princess  to  tolerate  that. 
It's  part  of  the  queer  history  that's  mixing  me  up  with  the 
family.  We've  come  to  spend  the  season  in  Egypt  be- 
cause Cleopatra  thinks  she's  Cleopatra;  also  because 
Monny  (that's  what  she's  chosen  to  call  herself  since  she 
tried  to  lisp  'Resamond'  and  couldn't)  because  Monny 
has  read  'The  Garden  of  Allah,'  and  wants  the  'desert  to 
take  her.'  That  book  had  nothing  to  do  with  Egyptian 
deserts;  but  any  desert  will  do  for  Monny.  What  she 
expects  it  to  do  with  her  exactly  when  it  has  taken  her,  on 
the  strength  of  a  Cook  ticket,  I  don't  quite  know;  but  I 
may  later,  because  she  vows  she'll  keep  me  at  her  side 
with  hooks  of  steel  all  through  the  tour  —  unless  some- 
thing worse  happens  to  me,  or  to  some  of  us  because  of 
me." 


10  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Biddy,  dear,  don't  be  morbid.  Nothing  bad  will 
happen,"  I  tried  to  reassure  her. 

"Thank  you  for  saying  so.  It  cheers  me  up.  We 
women  folk  are  so  in  the  habit  of  believing  anything 
.you  men  folk  tell  us.  It's  really  quaint!" 

"Stop  rotting,  and  tell  me  about  yourself;  and  a  truce  to 
^heiresses  and  Cleopatras.  You  know  I'm  dying  to  hear." 

"'Not  a  syllable,  until  you've  told  me  about  yourself. 
Where  you're  going,  and  what  the  dickens  for!" 

We  laughed  into  each  other's  eyes.  To  do  so,  I  had 
to  look  a  long  way  down,  and  she  a  long  way  up.  This 
in  itself  is  a  pleasantly  Victorian  thing  for  a  man  to  do 
in  these  days  of  Jerrybuilt  girls,  on  the  same  level  or  a 
story  or  two  higher  than  himself.  I'm  not  a  tall  man: 
just  the  dull  average  five  foot  ten  or  eleven  that  appears 
taller,  while  it  keeps  lean  —  so  naturally  I  have  a  hope- 
less yearning  for  nymph-like  creatures  who  pretend  to  be 
engaged  when  I  ask  them  to  dance.  Still,  there's  con- 
solation and  homely  comfort  in  talking  with  a  little  woman 
who  makes  you  feel  the  next  best  thing  to  a  giant.  Biddy 
is  an  old-fashioned  five  foot  four  hi  her  highest  heels; 
and  as  she  smiled  up  at  me  I  saw  that  she  hadn't  changed 
a  jot  in  the  last  ten  years,  despite  the  tragedy  that  had 
involved  her.  Not  a  silver  thread  in  the  black  hair,  not 
a  line  on  the  creamy  round  face. 
/'You're  just  yourself,"  I  said. 

*'I  oughtn't  to  be.  I  know  that  very  well.  I  ought  to 
be  a  Dido  and  Niobe  and  Cassandra  rolled  into  one. 
I'm  a  brute  not  to  be  dead  or  look  a  hag.  I've  gone 
through  horrors,  and  the  secrets  I  know  could  put 
dozens  of  people  in  prison,  if  not  electrocute  them.  But 


THE  SECRET  AND  THE  GIRL  11 

you  see  I'm  not  the  right  type  of  person  for  the  kind  of  life 
I've  had,  as  I  should  be  if  I  were  in  a  story  book,  and  the 
author  had  created  me  to  suit  my  background.  I  can't 
help  flapping  up  out  of  my  own  ashes  before  they're 
cold.  I  can't  help  laughing  in  the  face  of  fate." 

"And  looking  a  girl  of  twenty-three,  at  most,  while 
you  do  it!" 

"If  I  look  a  girl,  I  must  be  a  phenomenon  as  well  as 
a  phoenix,  for  nobody  knows  better  than  you  that  my 
Bible  age  is  thirty-one  if  it's  a  day.  And  I  think  Burke 
and  Debrett  have  got  the  same  tale  to  tell  about  you,  eh?" 

"They  have.  I  was  always  delighted  to  share  some- 
thing with  you." 

"You  can  have  the  whole  share  of  my  age  over  twenty- 
six.  There's  one  advantage  'Mrs.  Jones'  has.  She 
can,  if  her  looking-glass  doesn't  forbid,  go  back  to 
that  classic  age  dear  to  all  sensible  adventuresses.  I'm 
afraid  I  come  under  the  head  of  adventuress,  with  my 
alias,  and  travelling  as  companion  to  the  rich  Miss 
Gilder." 

"You're  the  last  person  on  earth  for  the  part!  Your 
fate  was  thrust  on  you.  You've  thrust  yourself  on  no 
one.  Miss  Gilder  'achieved '  you." 

"Collected  me,  rather,  as  one  of  her  'specimens.' 
She  has  a  noble  weakness  for  lame  ducks,  and  though  she 
fails  sometimes  in  trying  to  strengthen  their  game  legs, 
she  tries  gloriously.  She  and  her  aunt  have  been  travel- 
ling in  France  and  Italy,  guided  by  instinct  and  French 
maids,  and  already  Monny  has  picked  up  two  weird  prote- 
gees, sure  to  bring  her  to  grief.  The  most  exciting  and 
deadly  specimen  is  a  perfectly  beautiful  American  girl  just 


12  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

married  to  a  Turkish  Bey  who  met  her  in  Paris,  and  is  tak- 
ing her  home  to  Egypt.  I  haven't  even  seen  the  unfortu- 
nate houri,  because  the  Turk  has  shut  her  up  in  their  cabin 
and  pretends  she's  seasick.  Monny  doesn't  believe  in  the 
seasickness,  and  sends  secret  notes  in  presents  of  flowers 
and  boxes  of  chocolate.  But  I  have  seen  the  Turk.  He's 
pink  and  white  and  looks  angelic,  except  for  a  gleam  deep 
down  in  his  eyes,  if  Monny  inquires  after  his  wife  when  any 
of  her  best  young  men  are  hanging  about.  Especially 
when  there's  Neill  Sheridan,  a  young  Egyptologist  from 
Harvard,  Monny  met  in  Paris,  or  Willis  Bailey,  a  fascinat- 
ing sculptor  who  wants  to  study  the  crystal  eyes  of  wooden 
statues  in  the  Museum  at  Cairo.  He  is  going  to  make 
them  the  fashion  in  America,  next  year.  Yes,  Madame 
Rechid  Bey  is  a  most  explosive  protegee  for  a  girl  to  have, 
on  her  way  to  Egypt.  I'm  not  sure  even  I  am  not  innocu- 
ous by  comparison;  though  I  do  wish  you  hadn't  reminded 
me  of  my  poor  little  step-daughter  Esme,  in  her  convent- 
school.  If  any  one  should  get  the  idea  that  Monny  — 
but  I  won't  put  it  in  words!  Besides  me,  and  the  brand- 
new  bride  of  Rechid  Bey  ('Wretched  Bey'  is  our  name 
for  him),  there's  one  more  protegee,  a  Miss  Rachel  Guest 
from  Salem,  Massachusetts,  a  school-teacher  taking  her 
first  holiday.  That  sounds  harmless,  and  it  looks  harm- 
less to  an  amateur;  but  wait  till  you  meet  her  and  see  what 
instinct  tells  you  about  her  eyes.  Oh,  we  shall  have 
ructions!  But  that  reminds  me.  You  haven't  told  me 
where  you're  bound  —  or  anything." 

"Thanks  for  putting  me  among  the  'specimens/ 
But  this  sample  hasn't  yet  been  collected  by  Miss  Gilder." 

"You  might  be  her  salvation,  and  keep  her  out  of 


THE  SECRET  AND  THE  GIRL  13 

mischief.  She's  quite  wild  now  with  sheer  joy  because 
she's  going  to  Egypt.  But  do  be  serious,  and  tell  me  all 
I  pine  to  know,  if  you  want  me  to  do  the  same  by  you." 

"  Well  —  though  it's  unimportant  compared  to  what 
you  have  to  tell!  I'm  an  insignificant  second  secretary 
to  Sir  Raymond  Ronalds,  the  British  Ambassador  at 
Rome.  I've  got  four  months'  leave " 

"Ah,  that's  what  comes  of  duffing  so  skilfully,  and 
avoiding  all  the  things  you  didn't  want  to  do,  till  you 
got  exactly  what  you  did  want!  I  remember  when  we 
were  small  boy  and  girl,  and  you  used  to  walk  down  to  the 
vicarage  every  day,  to  talk  Greek  or  Latin  or  something 
with  father " 

"No,  to  see  you!" 

"Well,  you  used  to  tell  me,  if  you  couldn't  be  the 
greatest  prize-fighter  or  the  greatest  opera-singer  in  the 
world,  you  thought  you'd  like  to  be  a  diplomat. 

"I  haven't  become  a  diplomat  yet,  in  spite  of  Foreign 
Office  grubbing.  But  I've  been  enjoying  life  pretty  well, 
fagging  up  Arabic  and  modern  Greek,  and  playing  about 
with  pleasant  people,  while  pretending  to  do  my  duty. 
Now  I've  got  leave  on  account  of  a  mild  fever  which 
turned  out  a  blessing  in  disguise.  I  could  have  found  no 
other  excuse  for  Egypt  this  winter." 

"You  speak  as  if  you  had  some  special  reason  for  going 
to  Egypt." 

"I've  been  wishing  to  go,  more  or  less,  for  years,  be- 
cause you  know  —  if  you  haven't  forgotten  —  I  was 
accidentally  born  in  Cairo  while  my  father  was  fighting 
in  Alexandria.  My  earliest  recollections  are  of  Egypt, 
for  we  lived  there  till  I  was  four  —  about  the  time  I  met 


14  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

and  fell  in  love  with  you.  I've  always  thought  I'd 
like  to  polish  up  old  memories.  But  my  special  hurry 
is  because  I'm  anxious  to  meet  a  friend,  a  chap  I  admire 
and  love  beyond  all  others.  I  want  to  see  him  for  his 
own  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  a  plan  we  have,  which  may 
make  a  lot  of  difference  for  our  future." 

"How  exciting!     Did  I  ever  know  him?  " 

"I  think  not." 

"Well?     Don't  you  mean  to  tell  me  who  he  is?" 

I  hesitated,  sorry  I  had  let  myself  go :  because  Anthony 
had  written  that  he  didn't  want  his  movements  discussed 
at  present. 

"I'll  tell  you  another  time,"  I  said.  "I  want  to  talk 
about  you.  Anybody  else  is  irrelevant." 

"  Clever  Duffer !     Your  friend  is  a  secret." 

"Not  he!  But  if  there's  a  secret  anywhere,  it's  only 
a  dull,  dusty  sort  of  secret.  You  wouldn't  be  interested." 

"Women  never  are,  in  secrets.  Well,  I'm  glad  some- 
body else  besides  myself  has  a  mystery  to  hide." 

"You're  very  quick." 

"I'm  Irish!  But  I'm  merciful.  No  more  questions 
—  till  you're  off  your  guard.  You're  free  to  ask  me  all 
you  like,  if  there's  anything  you  care  to  know  which  horrid 
newspapers  haven't  told  you  these  last  few  years." 

"There  are  a  thousand  things.  You  didn't  answer 
anybody's  letters,  after  —  after " 

"After  Richard  died.  Oh,  I  can  talk  about  it,  now. 
It  was  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  for  him,  poor 
fellow.  Life  in  hiding  was  purgatory.  No,  I  couldn't 
answer  letters,  though  my  old  friends  (you  among  them) 
wanted  to  be  kind.  There  wasn't  anything  I  could  let 


THE  SECRET  AND  THE  GIRL  15 

anybody  do  for  me.  Monny  Gilder's  different.  You'll 
soon  see  why." 

I  smiled  indulgently.  But,  though  1  was  to  be  intro- 
duced to  Miss  Gilder  for  the  purpose  of  being  eventually 
gilded  by  her,  at  the  instant  my  thoughts  were  for  my 
childhood's  sweetheart. 

Brigit  Burne  made  a  terrible  mess  of  things  in  marrying, 
when  she  was  eighteen  or  so,  Richard  O'Brien,  in  the 
height  of  his  celebrity  as  a  socialist  leader.  People  still 
believed  in  him  then,  at  the  time  of  his  famous  lec- 
turing tour  and  visit  to  his  birthplace  on  our  green 
island;  and  though  he  was  more  than  twice  her  age,  the 
fascination  he  had  for  Biddy  surprised  few  who  knew 
him. 

He  was  eloquent,  in  a  fiery  way.  He  had  extraordinary 
eyes,  and  it  was  his  pride  to  resemble  portraits  of  Lord 
Byron.  After  an  acquaintance  of  a  month,  Biddy  mar- 
ried O'Brien  (I  had  just  gone  up  to  Oxford  at  the  time, 
or  I  should  have  tried  not  to  let  it  happen),  went  to 
America  with  him,  and  voluntarily  ceased  to  exist  for  her 
friends. 

Poor  girl,  she  must  have  had  an  awakening!  He  had 
posed  as  a  bachelor;  but  after  her  marriage  she  found  out 
(and  the  world  with  her)  that  he  was  a  widower  with  one 
child,  a  little  girl  he  had  practically  abandoned.  Biddy 
adopted  her,  though  the  mother  had  been  a  rather  undesir- 
able Frenchwoman;  and  now  when  I  saw  her  smiling  at 
the  tall  white  girl  on  the  Laconia,  I  had  thought  for  an 
instant  that  Biddy  and  her  stepdaughter  might  be  in 
flight  together.  O'Brien  was  a  drunkard,  as  well  as  a 
demagogue;  and  not  long  after  Brigit's  flitting  with  him 


16  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

there  was  a  scandal  about  the  accepting  of  bribes  from 
politicians  on  the  opposing  side,  apparently  his  greatest 
enemies;  but  a  minor  scandal  compared  to  what  came 
some  years  afterward.  O'Brien's  name  was  implicated 
in  the  blowing  up  of  the  World-Republican  Building  in 
Washington,  and  the  wrecking  of  Senator  Marlowe's 
special  train  after  his  speech  against  socialist  interests,  but 
the  coward  turned  informer  against  his  friends  and  asso- 
ciates in  the  secret  society  of  which  he  had  been  a  leader, 
and  saved  himself  by  sending  them  to  prison.  From  that 
day  until  his  death  he  lived  the  life  of  a  hunted  animal  fly- 
ing from  the  hounds  of  vengeance.  Brigit  stood  by  him  in 
spite  of  threats  against  her  life  as  well  as  his,  and  the  life  of 
the  child.  Since  then,  though  she  answered  none  of  our 
letters,  we  had  heard  rumours.  The  girl  Esme,  whom  the 
avengers  had  threatened  to  kidnap,  was  supposed  to  be 
hidden  in  some  convent-school  in  Europe.  As  for  Brigit, 
she  was  said  to  be  training  for  a  hospital  nurse :  reported  to 
have  become  a  missionary  in  India,  China,  and  one  or  two 
other  countries;  seen  on  the  music-hall  stage,  and  traced 
to  Johannesburg,  where  she  had  married  a  diamond- 
merchant;  yet  here  she  was  on  board  the  Laconia,  un- 
changed in  looks,  or  nature,  and  the  guest  of  a  much  para- 
graphed, much  proposed  to  American  heiress  en  route  to 
Egypt. 

While  Brigit  was  telling  me  the  real  story  of  her  last 
two  years,  as  governess,  companion,  teacher  of  music, 
and  journalist,  Miss  Gilder  regarded  us  sidewise  from 
amid  her  bodyguard  of  young  men.  Evidently  she  was 
dying  to  know  who  was  the  acquaintance  her  darling 
Biddy  had  picked  up  in  mid-Mediterranean  the  moment 


THE  SECRET  AND  THE  GIRL  17 

her  back  was  turned;  and  at  last,  unable  to  restrain 
herself  longer,  she  made  use  of  some  magic  trick  to  attach 
the  band  of  youths  to  her  aunt.  Then,  separating  her- 
self with  almost  indecent  haste  from  the  group,  she  marched 
up  to  us,  gazing  —  I  might  say,  staring  —  with  large 
unfriendly  eyes  at  the  intruder. 

Brigit  promptly  accounted  for  me,  however,  rolling 
her  "r's"  patriotically  because  I  reminded  her  of  Ire- 
land. "Do  let  me  introduce  Lord  Ernest  Borrow,"  she 
said.  "I  must  have  told  you  about  him  in  my  stories, 
when  you  were  a  child,  for  he  was  me  first  love." 

"It  was  the  other  way  round,"  I  objected.  "She 
wouldn't  look  at  me.  I  adored  her." 

Biddy  glared  a  warning.  Her  eyes  said,  "Silly  fellow, 
don't  you  know  every  girl  wants  to  be  the  one  and  only 
love  of  a  man's  life?  " 

I  had  supposed  that  this  old  craze  had  gone  out  of 
fashion.  But  perhaps  there  are  a  few  primitive  things 
which  will  never  go  out  of  fashion  with  women. 

Now  that  I  had  Miss  Gilder's  proud  young  face  opposite 
mine,  I  saw  that  it  wasn't  quite  so  perfect  as  I'd  fancied 
when  she  flashed  by  in  her  tall  whiteness.  Her  nose,  pure 
Greek  in  profile,  seen  in  full  was  —  well,  just  neat  Ameri- 
can: a  straight,  determined  little  twentieth-century  nose. 
The  full  red  mouth,  not  small,  struck  me  as  being  deter- 
mined also,  rather  than  classic,  despite  the  daintily  drawn 
cupid's  bow  of  the  short  upper  lip.  I  realized  too  that  the 
long-lashed,  wide-open,  and  wide-apart  eyes  were  of  the 
usual  bluish-gray  possessed  by  half  the  girls  one  knows. 
And  as  for  the  thick  wavy  hair  pushed  crisply  forward  by 
the  white  hood,  now  it  was  out  of  the  sun's  glamour,  there 


18  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

was  more  brown  than  gold  in  it.  I  said  to  myself,  that  the 
face  with  the  firm  cleft  chin  was  only  just  pretty  enough  to 
give  a  great  heiress  or  a  youthful  princess  the  reputation  of 
a  beauty;  a  combination  desired  and  generally  produced 
by  journalists.  Then,  as  I  was  thinking  this,  while  Brigit 
explained  me,  Miss  Gilder  suddenly  smiled.  I  was  daz- 
zled. No  wonder  Biddy  loved  her.  It  would  be  a  wonder 
if  I  didn't  love  her  myself  before  I  knew  what  was  happen- 
ing. 

And  so  I  should  instantly  have  done,  perhaps,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  Biddy's  eyes  seeming  to  come  between 
mine  and  Miss  Gilder's :  and  the  fact  that  at  the  moment 
I  was  in  quest  of  another  treasure  than  a  woman's  heart. 
My  thoughts  were  running  ahead  of  the  ship  to  Alexandria, 
to  find  out  from  Anthony  Fenton  ("Antoun  Effendi" 
the  biggest  boys  used  to  nickname  him  at  school)  more 
about  the  true  history  of  that  treasure  than  he  dared 
trust  to  paper  and  ink  and  the  post  office. 

So  I  put  off  falling  in  love  with  Rosamond  Gilder  till 
I  should  have  seen  Anthony,  and  tidied  up  my  distracted 
mind.  A  little  later  would  do,  I  told  myself,  because 
(owing  to  the  fact  that  my  ancestral  castle  had  figured 
in  Biddy's  tales  of  long  ago)  I  was  annexed  as  one  of  the 
proteges;  allowed  to  make  a  fifth  at  the  small,  flowery 
table  under  a  desirable  porthole  in  the  green  and  white 
restaurant;  also  I  was  invited  to  go  about  with  the  ladies 
and  show  them  Cairo.  Just  how  much  "going  about," 
and  falling  in  love,  I  should  be  able  to  do  there,  depended 
on  "Antoun  Effendi."  But  when  Biddy  congratulated 
me  on  my  luck,  and  chance  of  success  in  the  "scheme," 
I  said  nothing  of  Anthony. 


II 

CLEOPATRA  AND  THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY 

Now,  at  last,  I  can  skip  over  the  three  days  at  sea,  and 
get  to  our  arrival  at  Alexandria,  because,  as  I've  said, 
the  exciting  part  began  soon  after,  at  Cairo. 

They  were  delightful  days,  for  the  Laconia  is  a  Paris 
hotel  disguised  as  a  liner.  And  no  man  with  blood  in  his 
veins  could  help  enjoying  the  society  of  Brigit  O'Brien 
and  Rosamond  Gilder.  Cleopatra,  too,  was  not  to  be 
despised  as  a  charmer;  and  then  there  was  the  human 
interest  of  the  protegees,  the  one  with  the  eyes  and  the  one 
who  had  reluctantly  developed  into  the  Ship's  Mystery. 

Still,  in  spite  of  Biddy  and  Monny  and  the  others, 
and  not  for  them,  my  heart  beat  fast  when,  on  the  after- 
noon of  the  third  day  out  from  Naples,  the  ship  brought 
us  suddenly  in  sight  of  something  strange.  We  were 
moving  through  a  calm  sea,  more  like  liquefied  marble 
than  water,  for  it  was  creamy  white  rather  than  blue, 
veined  with  azure,  and  streaked,  as  marble  is,  with  pink 
and  gold.  Far  away  across  this  gleaming  floor  blossomed 
a  long  line  of  high-growing  lotus  flowers,  white  and  yellow 
against  a  silver  sky.  The  effect  was  magical,  and  the 
wonder  grew  when  the  big  flower-bed  turned  into  domes 
and  cupolas  and  spires  rising  out  of  the  sea.  Unimagin- 
ative people  remarked  that  the  coast  looked  so  flat  and 

19 


20  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

uninteresting  they  didn't  see  why  Alexander  had  wanted 
to  bother  with  it;  but  they  were  the  sort  of  people  who 
ought  to  stop  at  home  in  London  or  Birmingham  or  Chi- 
cago and  not  make  innocent  fellow-passengers  burn  with 
unchristian  feelings. 

Soon  I  should  see  Anthony  and  hear  his  news.  I 
felt  sure  he  would  be  at  Alexandria  to  meet  the  ship.  When 
"Antoun  Effendi"  makes  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing,  he 
will  crawl  from  under  a  falling  sky  to  do  it.  As  the 
Laconia  swept  on,  I  hardly  saw  the  glittering  city  on  its 
vast  prayer-rug  of  green  and  gold,  guarded  by  sea  forts 
like  sleepy  crocodiles.  My  mind's  eyes  were  picturing 
Anthony  as  he  would  look  after  his  wild  Balkan  expe- 
riences: brown  and  lean,  even  haggard  and  bearded,  per- 
haps, a  different  man  from  the  smart  young  officer  of 
everyday  life,  unless  he'd  contrived  to  refit  in  the  short 
time  since  his  return  to  Egypt  —  a  day  or  two  at  most, 
according  to  my  calculation.  But  all  my  imaginings  fell 
short  of  the  truth. 

As  I  thought  of  Anthony,  Mrs.  East  came  and  stood 
beside  me.  I  knew  she  was  there  before  I  turned  to 
look,  because  of  the  delicate  tinkling  of  little  Egyptian 
amulets,  which  is  her  accompaniment,  her  leit  motif, 
and  because  of  the  scent  of  sandalwood  with  which, 
in  obedience  to  the  ancient  custom  of  Egyptian  queens, 
she  perfumes  her  hair. 

I  don't  think  I  have  described  Monny  Gilder's  aunt, 
according  to  my  conception  of  her,  though  I  may  have 
hinted  at  Biddy's.  Biddy  having  a  habit  of  focussing 
her  sense  of  humour  on  any  female  she  doesn't  wholly 
love,  may  not  do  Mrs.  East  justice.  The  fact  is,  Monny 's 


CLEOPATRA  AND  THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  21 

aunt  is  a  handsome  creature,  distinctly  a  charmer  who 
may  at  most  have  reached  the  age  when  Cleopatra  — 
Antony's  and  Caesar's  Cleopatra  —  died  in  the  prime  of 
her  beauty.  If  Mrs.  East  chooses  to  date  herself  at  thirty- 
three,  any  man  not  a  confirmed  misanthrope  must  believe 
her.  Biddy  says  that  until  Peter  Gilder  was  safely  dead, 
Clara  East  was  just  an  ordinary,  well-dressed,  pleasure- 
loving,  novel-reading,  chocolate-eating,  respectable  widow 
of  a  New  York  stockbroker:  superstitious  perhaps;  fond 
of  consulting  palmists,  and  possessing  Billikens  or  other 
mascots:  (how  many  women  are  free  from  superstition?) 
slightly  oriental  in  her  love  of  sumptuous  colours  and  jew- 
ellery; but  then  her  mother  (Peter  Gilder's  step-mother) 
was  a  beautiful  Jewish  opera  singer.  After  Peter's 
death,  his  half-sister  gave  up  novels  for  Egyptian  and 
Roman  history,  took  to  studying  hieroglyphics,  and  learn- 
ing translations  of  Greek  poetry.  She  invited  a  clairvoy- 
ant and  crystal-gazer,  claiming  Egyptian  origin,  to  visit 
at  her  Madison  Square  flat.  Sayda  Sabri,  banished  from 
Bond  Street  years  ago,  took  up  her  residence  in  New  York, 
accompanied  by  her  tame  mummy.  Of  course,  it  is  the 
mummy  of  a  princess,  and  she  keeps  it  illuminated  with 
blue  lights,  in  an  inner  sanctum,  where  the  bored-looking 
thing  stands  upright  in  its  brilliantly  painted  mummy 
case,  facing  the  door.  About  the  time  of  Sayda's  visit, 
it  was  noticed  by  Mrs.  East's  friends  (this,  according 
to  Biddy)  that  the  colour  of  the  lady's  hair  was  slowly 
but  surely  changing  from  black  to  chestnut,  then  to 
auburn;  she  was  heard  to  remark  casually  that  Queen 
Cleopatra's  hair  had  been  red.  She  took  to  rich  Eastern 
scents,  to  whitening  her  face  as  Eastern  women  of  rank 


22  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

have  white  ed  theirs  since  time  immemorial.  The  shad- 
ows round  her  almond-shaped  eyes  were  intensified:  her 
full  lips  turned  from  healthful  pink  to  carmine.  The  ends 
of  her  tapering  fingers  blushed  rosily  as  sticks  of  coral. 
The  style  of  her  dress  changed,  at  the  moment  of  going 
into  purple  as  "second  mourning"  for  Peter,  and  became 
oriental,  even  to  the  turban-like  shape  of  her  hats,  and 
the  design  of  her  jewellery.  She  did  away  with  crests  and 
monograms  on  handkerchiefs,  stationery,  luggage  and  so 
on,  substituting  a  curious  little  oval  containing  strange 
devices,  which  Monny  discovered  to  be  the  "cartouche" 
of  Cleopatra.  Then  the  whole  truth  burst  forth.  Sayda 
Sabri's  crystal  had  shown  that  Clara  East,  nee  Gilder,  was 
the  reincarnation  of  Cleopatra  the  Great  of  Egypt.  There 
had  been  another  incarnation  in  between,  but  it  was  of  no 
account,  and,  like  a  poor  relation  who  has  disgraced  a 
family,  the  less  said  about  it  the  better. 

The  lady  did  not  proclaim  her  identity  from  the  house- 
tops. Rare  souls  possessing  knowledge  of  Egyptian 
lore  might  draw  their  own  conclusions  from  the  cartouche 
on  her  note-paper  and  other  things.  Only  Monny  and  a 
few  intimates  were  told  the  truth  at  first;  but  afterward 
it  leaked  out,  as  secrets  do;  and  Mrs.  East  seemed  shyly 
pleased  if  discreet  questions  were  asked  concerning  her 
amulets  and  the  cartouche. 

Now,  I  never  feel  inclined  to  laugh  at  a  pretty  woman. 
It  is  more  agreeable,  as  well  as  gallant,  to  laugh  with  her; 
but  the  trouble  is,  Cleopatra  doesn't  go  in  for  laughter. 
She  takes  life  seriously.  Not  only  has  she  no  sense  of 
humour,  but  she  does  not  know  the  difference  between 
it  and  a  sense  of  fun,  which  she  can  understand  if  a  joke 


CLEOPATRA  AND  THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  23 

(about  somebody  else)  is  explained.  She  is  grateful  to  me 
because  I  look  her  straight  in  the  eyes  when  the  subject  of 
Egypt  is  mentioned.  Sheridan  from  Harvard  has  been  in 
her  bad  books  since  he  put  Ptolemaic  rulers  outside  of  the 
pale  of  Egyptian  history,  called  their  art  ornate  and  bad, 
mentioned  that  each  of  their  queens  was  named  Cleopatra 
and  classified  the  lot  as  modern,  almost  suburban. 

Mrs.  East,  leaning  beside  me  on  the  rail,  was  burning 
with  thoughts  inspired  by  Alexandria.  She  had  "Plu- 
tarch's Lives"  under  her  arm,  and  "Hypatia"  in  her 
hand.  Of  course,  she  dropped  them  both,  one  after  the 
other,  and  I  picked  them  up. 

"Do  you  know,  Lord  Ernest,"  she  said,  in  the  low, 
rich  voice  she  is  cultivating,  "I  don't  mind  telling  you  that 
I  felt  as  if  I  were  coming  home,  after  a  long  absence. 
Monny  wanted  to  see  Egypt;  I  was  dying  to.  That's  the 
difference  between  us." 

"It's  natural,"  I  answered,  sympathetically. 

"  Yes  —  considering  everything.  Yet  we're  both  afraid. 
She  in  one  way,  I  in  another.  I  haven't  told  her.  She 
hasn't  told  me.  But  I  know.  She  has  the  same  impres- 
sion I  have,  that  something's  going  to  happen  —  some- 
thing very  great,  to  change  the  whole  of  life  —  in  Egypt: 
'Khern,'  it  seems  to  me  I  can  remember  calling  it.  You 
know  it  was  Khem,  until  the  Arabs  came  and  named  it 
Misr.  Do  you  believe  in  impressions  like  that?  " 

"I  don't  disbelieve,"  I  said.  "Some  people  are  more 
sensitive  than  others." 

"Yes.  Or  else  they're  older  souls.  But  it  maybe  the 
same  thing.  I  can't  fancy  Monny  an  old  soul,  can  you? 
—  yet  she  may  be,  for  she's  very  intelligent,  although 


24  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

so  self-willed.  I  think  what  she's  afraid  of  is  getting 
interested  in  some  wonderful  man  with  Turkish  or 
Egyptian  blood,  a  magnificent  creature  like  you  read  of 
in  books,  you  know;  then  you  have  to  give  them  up  in  the 
last  chapter,  and  send  them  away  broken-hearted.  I 
suppose  there  are  such  men  in  real  life?" 

"I  doubt  if  there  are  such  romantic  figures  as  the 
books  make  out,"  I  tried  to  reassure  her.  "There 
might  be  a  prince  or  two,  handsome  and  cultivated, 
educated  in  England,  perhaps,  for  some  of  the  'swells' 
are  sent  from  Egypt  to  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  just  as 
they  are  in  India.  But  even  if  Miss  Gilder  should  meet  a 
man  of  that  sort,  I  should  say  she  was  too  sensible  and 
clear-headed " 

"Oh,  she  is,  almost  too  much  so  for  a  young  girl, 
and  she  has  a  detestation  for  any  one  with  a  drop  of  dark 
blood,  in  America.  She  doesn't  even  like  Jews;  and  that 
makes  friction  between  us,  if  we  ever  happen  to  argue,  for 
—  maybe  you  don't  know?  —  my  mother  was  a  Jewess. 
I'm  proud  of  her  memory.  But  that's  just  why,  if  you 
can  understand,  Monny's  afraid  in  Egypt.  Some  girls 
would  like  to  have  a  tiny  flirtation  with  a  gorgeous  East- 
ern creature  (of  course,  he  must  be  a  bey,  or  prince  or 
something,  otherwise  it  would  be  infra  dig),  but  Monny 
would  hate  herself  for  being  attracted.  Yet  I  know  she 
dreads  it  happening,  because  of  the  way  I've  heard  her 
rave  against  the  heroines  of  novels,  saying  she  has  no 
patience  with  them;  they  ought  to  have  more  strength 
of  mind,  even  if  it  broke  their  hearts." 

I  wondered  if  Biddy,  too,  suspected  some  such  fear  in 
the  mind  of  her  adored  girl,  and  if  that  were  one  reason 


CLEOPATRA  AND  THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  25 

why  she  had  turned  matchmaker  for  my  benefit.  Since 
the  first  day  out  she  had  used  strategems  to  throw  us 
together:  and  it  seemed  that,  years  ago,  when  she  used 
to  teach  the  little  girl  French,  Monny's  favourite  stories 
had  been  of  Castle  Killeena,  and  my  boyish  exploits 
birds '-nesting  on  the  crags.  (Biddy  said  that  this  was 
a  splendid  beginning,  if  I  had  the  sense  to  follow  it  up.) 

"And  you?"  I  went  on  to  Mrs.  East.  "What  do  you 
feel  is  going  to  happen  to  you  in  the  land  of  Khem?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  sighed.  "I  wish  I  did! 
And  'afraid'  isn't  exactly  the  word.  I  just  know  that 
something  will  happen.  I  wonder  if  history  does  repeat 
itself?  I  should  hate  to  be  bitten  by  an  asp " 

"Asps  are  out  of  fashion,"  I  comforted  her.  "I  doubt 
if  you  could  find  one  in  all  of  Egypt,  though  I  remem- 
ber my  Egyptian  nurse  used  to  say  there  were  cobras 
in  the  desert  in  summer.  Anyhow,  we'll  be  away  before 
summer." 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  agreed.  "Yet  —  who  knows  what 
will  become  of  any  of  us?  Madame  Rechid  Bey  will  be 
staying,  of  course.  I  don't  know  whether  to  be  sorry  for 
her  or  not.  The  Bey's  good-looking.  He  has  brown 
eyes,  and  is  as  white  as  you  or  I.  Probably  it's  true 
that  she's  been  too  seasick  to  leave  her  room  for  the  last 
ten  days,  though  Monny  and  Mrs.  O  'Bri  —  I  mean,  Mrs. 
Jones  —  think  she's  shut  up  because  men  stared,  and 
because  Mr.  Sheridan  talked  to  her.  As  for  me,  there's 
always  that  question  asking  itself  in  my  mind:  'What 
is  going  to  happen?'  And  I  hear  it  twice  as  loud  as 
before,  in  sight  of  Alexandria.  Rakoti,  we  Lagidae  used 
to  call  the  city." 


26  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

As  she  spoke,  the  long,  oriental  eyes  glanced  at  me 
sidewise,  but  my  trustworthy  Celtic  features  showed  a 
grave,  intelligent  interest  in  her  statements. 

"It  must  be,"  she  went  on,  encouraged,  "that  I'm  the 
reincarnation  of  Cleopatra,  otherwise  how  could  I  have  the 
sensation  of  remembering  every  thing?  There's  no  other 
way  to  account  for  it !  And  you  know  my  modern  name, 
Clara,  does  begin  with  'C.'  Sayda  must  be  right.  She's 
told  lots  of  women  the  most  extraordinary  things.  You 
really  ought  to  consult  her,  Lord  Ernest,  if  you  ever  go  to 
New  York." 

I  did  not  say,  as  Neill  Sheridan  might,  that  a  frothy 
course  of  Egyptian  historical  novels  would  account  for 
anything.  I  simply  looked  as  diplomatic  training  can 
teach  any  one  to  look. 

Evidently  it  was  the  right  look  in  the  right  place, 
for  Cleopatra  continued  more  courageously,  recalling 
the  great  Pharos  of  white  marble  which  used  to  be  one 
of  the  world's  wonders  in  her  day;  the  Museum,  and  the 
marvellous  Library  which  took  fire  while  Julius  Caesar 
burned  the  fleet,  nearby  hi  the  harbour. 

"Think  of  the  philosophers  who  deserted  the  College  of 
Heliopolis  for  Alexandria!"  she  said.  "Antony  was  more 
of  a  soldier  than  a  student,  but  even  he  grieved  for  the 
Library.  You  know  he  tried  to  console  Cleopatra  by 
making  her  a  present  of  two  hundred  thousand  MSS. 
from  the  library  of  the  King  of  Pergamus.  It  was  a 
generous  thought  —  like  Antony!" 

"Does  the  harbour  looked  changed?"  I  hastened  to 
inquire. 

"Not  from  a  distance,  though  landing  may  be  a  shock: 


CLEOPATRA  AND  THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  27 

they  tell  me  it's  all  so  Italian  now.  It  was  Greek  in  old 
days.  I've  read  that  there  isn't  a  stone  left  of  my  —  of 
the  lovely  place  on  Lochias  Point,  except  the  foundations 
they  found  in  the  seventies.  But  I  must  go  to  see  what's 
left  of  the  Baths,  even  though  there's  only  a  bit  of  mosaic 
and  the  remains  of  a  room.  Monny's  anxious  to  get  on 
to  Cairo,  but  we  shall  come  back  to  Alexandria  later.  Lord 
Ernest,  when  I  shut  my  eyes,  I  really  do  seem  to  picture 
the  Mareotic  Lake,  and  the  buildings  that  made  Alexan- 
dria the  glory  of  the  world.  Do  you  remember  what 
Strabo  said  about  Deinchares,  the  architect  who  laid  out 
the  plan  of  the  city  in  the  shape  of  a  Macedonian  mantle, 
to  please  Alexander?" 

"I'm  not  as  well  up  in  history  as  you  are,"  I  said, 
"though  I've  studied  a  bit,  because  I  was  born  in  Egypt. 
Poor  Alexander  didn't  live  long  in  his  fine  city,  did  he? 
I  wonder  what  he'd  think  of  it  now?  And  I  wonder  if  his 
palace  was  handsomer  than  the  Khedive's?  That  huge 
white  building  with  the  pillars  and  domes.  I  seem  to 
remember " 

"What,  you  remember,  too?  You  ought  to  consult 
Sayda!" 

"I  didn't  mean  exactly  what  you  mean,"  I  explained, 
humbly.  "Still,  why  shouldn't  I  have  lived  in  Egypt 
long  ago?  The  learned  ones  say  you're  always  drawn 
back  where  you've  been  in  other  states  of  existence " 

"That's  true,  I'm  sure!" 

"Well,  then,  why  shouldn't  I  have  the  same  sort  of 
right  to  Egypt  you  have,  if  you  were  Cleopatra?  —  I 
believe  you  must  have  been,  because  you  look  as  she  ought 
to  have  looked,  you  know.  Why  shouldn't  I  have 


28  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

been  a  friend  of  Marc  Antony,  coming  from  Rome  to  give 
him  good  advice  and  trying  to  persuade " 

"Oh,  not  that  he  ought  to  give  me  up!" 

"No,  indeed:  to  urge  him  to  leave  the  island  where 
he  hid  even  from  you  (didn't  they  call  it  Timoneum?). 
Why  couldn't  Antony  play  his  cards  so  as  to  keep  Cleo- 
patra and  the  world,  too?  She'd  have  liked  him  better, 
wouldn't  she?  My  friend  Antoun  Effendi  —  I  mean 
Anthony  Fenton,"  —  I  stopped  short:  for  the  less  said 
about  Fenton  the  better,  at  present.  But  Cleopatra 
caught  me  up. 

"What  —  have  you  really  a  friend  Antony?  Where 
does  he  live?  and  what's  he  like?" 

I  hesitated;  and  glancing  round  for  inspiration  (in 
other  words  for  some  harmless,  necessary  fib)  I  saw  that 
Brigit  and  Monny  had  arrived  on  the  scene.  They  had 
been  pacing  the  deck,  arm  in  arm;  and  now,  arrested 
by  Mrs.  East's  question,  they  hovered  near,  awaiting 
my  answer  with  vague  curiosity.  A  twinkle  in  Biddy's 
eyes,  which  I  caught,  rattled  me  completely.  I  missed 
all  the  easiest  fibs  and  could  catch  hold  of  nothing  but 
the  bare  truth.  There  are  moments  like  that,  when, 
do  what  you  will,  you  must  be  truthful  or  silent;  and 
silence  fires  suspicion. 

"What  is  he? "  I  echoed  feebly.  "Oh,  Captain  Fenton. 
He's  in  the  Gyppy  Army  stationed  up  at  Khartum, 
hundreds  of  miles  beyond  where  Cook's  boats  go.  You 
wouldn't  be  interested  in  Anthony,  because  he  spells  his 
name  with  an  'H',  and  he's  dark  and  thin,  not  a  bit 
like  your  Antony,  who  was  a  big,  stout  fellow,  I've  always 
heard,  and  fair." 


CLEOPATRA  AND  THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  29 

"Big,  but  not  stout,"  Cleopatra  corrected  me.  "And 
—  and  if  he's  incarnated  again,  he  may  be  dark  for  a 
change.  As  for  the  *H',  that's  not  important.  I  wonder 
if  we  shall  meet  your  Anthony?  We  think  of  going  to 
Khartum,  don't  we,  Monny?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  shortly.  She  was  always  rather 
short  in  her  manner  at  that  time  when  in  her  opinion  her 
aunt  was  being  "silly." 

I  gathered  from  a  vexed  flash  in  the  gray  eyes  that  there 
had  never  been  any  hint  of  an  impending  Antony. 

"Is  your  friend  in  Khartum  now?"  Biddy  ventured, 
in  her  creamiest  voice.  The  twinkle  was  carefully  turned 
off  like  the  light  of  a  dark  lantern,  but  I  knew  well  that 
"Mrs.  Jones"  was  recalling  a  certain  conversation,  in 
which  I  had  refused  to  satisfy  her  curiosity.  Brigit's 
quick,  Irish  mind  has  a  way  of  matching  mental  jig- 
saw puzzles,  even  when  vital  bits  appear  to  be  missing; 
and  if  she  could  make  a  cat's  paw  of  Cleopatra,  the  witch 
would  not  be  above  doing  it.  I  bore  her  no  grudge  — 
who  could  bear  soft-eyed,  laughing,  yet  tragic  Biddy  a 
grudge?  —  but  I  wished  that  she  and  Monny  were  at 
the  other  end  of  the  deck. 

"I  —  er  —  really,  I  don't  know  where  my  friend  is 
just  now,"  I  answered,  with  more  or  less  foundation 
of  truth. 

"I  wonder  if  I  didn't  read  in  the  papers  about  a  Cap- 
tain Fenton  who  took  advantage  of  leave  he'd  got,  to 
make  a  rush  for  the  Balkans,  and  see  the  fighting  from 
the  lines  of  the  Allies?"  Biddy  murmured  with  dreadful 
intelligence.  "Can  he  be  your  Captain  Fenton?  I 
fancy  he'd  been  stationed  in  the  Sudan;  and  he  was 


30  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

officially  supposed  to  have  gone  home  to  spend  his  leave 
in  England.  Anyhow,  there  was  a  row  of  some  sort 
after  he  and  another  man  dropped  down  on  to  the  Turks 
out  of  a  Greek  aeroplane.  Or  was  it  a  Servian  one? 
Anyhow,  I  know  he  oughtn't  to  have  been  in  it;  and 
*  Paterfamilias'  and  'Patriot'  wrote  letters  to  the  Times 
about  British  officers  who  didn't  mind  their  own  business. 
Why,  I  saw  the  papers  on  board  this  ship!  They  were 
old  ones.  Papers  on  ships  always  are.  But  I  think 
they  came  on  at  Algiers  or  somewhere." 

"Probably  'somewhere,' "  I  witheringly  replied.  "7 
didn't  come  on  at  Algiers,  so  I  don't  know  anything  about 
it." 

"Diplomatists  never  do  know  anything  official,  do 
they,  Duffer  dear?  "  smiled  Biddy.  "  I'll  wager  your  friend 
is  interesting,  even  if  he  does  spell  himself  with  an  'H', 
and  weighs  two  stone  less  than  his  namesake  from 
Rome.  Mrs.  East  believes  in  reincarnation,  and  I'm 
not  sure  I  don't,  though  Monny's  so  young  she  doesn't 
believe  in  anything.  Just  suppose  your  friend  is  a  re- 
incarnation of  Antony  without  an  'H'?  And  suppose, 
too,  by  some  strange  trick  of  fate  he  should  meet  you  in 
Alexandria  or  Cairo ?  You'd  introduce  him  to  us,  wouldn't 
you?" 

"It's  the  most  unlikely  thing  in  the  world.  And 
he'd  be  no  good  to  you.  He's  a  man's  man.  He  thinks 
he  doesn't  like  women.  " 

"Doesn't  like  women!"  echoed  Monny  Gilder.  "He 
must  be  a  curmudgeon.  Or  has  he  been  jilted?  " 

"Rather  not! "  Too  impulsively  I  defended  the  absent. 
"  Girls  go  mad  about  him.  He  has  to  keep  them  off  with 


CLEOPATRA  AND  THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  31 

a  stick.  He's  got  other  things  to  think  of  than  girls, 
things  he  believes  are  more  important  —  though,  of 
course,  he's  mistaken.  He'll  find  that  out  some  day, 
when  he  has  more  time.  So  far,  he's  been  hunting  other 
game,  often  in  wild  places.  A  book  might  be  written 
on  his  adventures." 

"What  kind  of  adventures?  Tell  us  about  them," 
said  Biddy,  "up  to  the  Balkan  one,  which  you  deny 
having  heard  of." 

"You  wouldn't  care  about  his  sort  of  adventures. 
There  aren't  any  women  in  them,"  said  I.  "  Women  want 
love  stories.  It's  only  the  heroines  they  care  for,  not  the 
heroes,  and  I  don't  somehow  see  the  right  heroine  for 
Fenton's  story." 

I  noticed  an  expression  dawning  on  Cleopatra's  face, 
as  I  thus  bereft  her  of  a  possible  Antony  (with  an  "H"). 
There  was  a  softening  of  the  long  eyes,  and  the  glimmer 
of  a  smile  which  said  "Am  I  Cleopatra  for  nothing?" 

Never  had  she  looked  handsomer.  Never  before  had 
I  thought  of  her  as  really  dangerous.  I'd  been  in- 
clined to  poke  fun  at  the  lady  for  her  superstition  and 
her  cartouche,  and  Cleopatra-hood  in  general.  But 
suddenly  I  realized  that  her  make-up  was  no  more  ex- 
aggerated than  that  of  many  a  beauty  of  the  stage  and 
of  society :  and  that  nowadays,  women  who  are  —  well, 
forty-ish  —  can  be  formidable  rivals  for  younger  and 
simpler  sisters.  Not  that  I  feared  much  for  Anthony 
from  Cleopatra  or  any  other  female  thing,  for  I'd  come 
to  consider  him  practically  woman-proof;  still,  I  saw 
danger  that  the  lady  might  make  a  dead  set  at  him,  if 
she  got  the  chance,  and  all  through  my  stupidity  in 


32  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

giving  away  his  name.  "Antony"  was  a  thrilling  pass- 
word to  that  mysterious  "something"  which  she  expected 
to  happen  in  Egypt:  and  already  she  regarded  my  friend 
as  a  ram  caught  in  the  bushes,  for  a  sacrifice  on  her  altar. 
Instead  of  screening  him  I  had  dragged  him  in  front  of  the 
footlights.  But  fortunately  there  was  still  time  to  jerk 
down  the  curtain. 

I  threw  a  glance  at  Brigit  and  Monny,  and  was  relieved 
to  find  that  their  attention  was  distracted  by  a  new  arrival: 
Miss  Rachel  Guest  from  Salem,  Massachusetts:  a  pale, 
thin,  lanky  copy  of  our  Rose,  with  the  beauty  and  bloom 
left  out;  but  a  pan*  of  eyes  to  redeem  the  colourless  face  — 
oh,  yes,  a  pair  of  eyes !  Strange,  hungry,  waiting  eyes. 

When  I  am  alone,  I  fear  Monny's  favourite  protegee, 
who  started  out  to  "see  the  world"  on  a  legacy  of 
two  thousand  dollars,  and  won  Miss  Gilder's  admiration 
(and  hospitality)  through  her  unassuming  pluck.  To  my 
mind  she  is  the  ideal  adventuress  of  a  new,  unknown,  and 
therefore  deadly  type;  but  for  once  I  rejoiced  at  sight  of  the 
pallid,  fragile  woman,  so  cheerful  in  spite  of  frail  health, 
so  frank  about  her  twenty-eight  years.  She  had  news  to 
tell  of  a  nature  so  exciting  that,  after  a  whisper  or  two, 
Cleopatra  forgot  Anthony  in  her  desire  to  know  the  latest 
development  in  the  Ship's  Mystery. 

"My  stewardess  says  he  won't  let  his  wife  land  till 
we're  all  off,"  murmured  the  ex-schoolmistress,  in  her 
colourless  voice.  "She  heard  the  end  of  a  conversation, 
when  she  carried  the  poor  girl's  lunch  to  the  door  — 
just  a  word  or  two.  So  we  shan't  see  her  again,  I 
suppose." 

"Oh,  yes,  we  shall,"  said  Monny.     "If  Wretched  Bey 


CLEOPATRA  AND  THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  33 

can  get  a  private  boat,  so  can  I.  I'll  not  desert  her, 
if  I  have  to  stay  on  board  the  Laconia  the  whole  night." 

All  four  began  talking  together  eagerly,  and  blessing 
Miss  Guest  I  sneaked  away.  Presently  I  saw  that  clever 
Neill  Sheridan  and  handsome,  actor-like  Willis  Bailey,  the 
two  betes  noires  of  Wretched  Bey,  had  joined  the  group. 

By  this  time  the  roofs  and  domes  and  minarets  of 
Alexandria  sparkled  in  clearly  sketched  outlines  between 
sunset-sky  and  sea;  sunset  of  Egypt,  which  divided  ruby- 
flame  of  cloud,  emerald  dhurra,  gold  of  desert,  and  sap- 
phire waters  into  separate  bands  of  colour,  vivid  as  the 
stripes  of  a  rainbow. 

There  was  a  new  buzz  of  excitement  on  the  decks  and  in 
the  ivy  draped  veranda  cafe.  Those  who  had  been  study- 
ing Baedeker  gabbled  history,  ancient  and  modern,  until 
the  conquest  of  Alexander  and  the  bombardment  of  '82 
became  a  hopeless  jumble  in  the  ears  of  the  ignorant. 
Bores  who  had  travelled  inflicted  advice  on  victims  who 
had  not.  People  told  each  other  pointless  anecdotes 
of  "the  last  time  I  was  in  Egypt,"  while  those  forced  to 
listen  did  so  with  the  air  of  panthers  waitin'g  to  pounce. 
A  pause  for  breath  on  the  part  of  the  enemy  gave  the 
wished-for  opportunity  to  spring  into  the  breach  with  an 
adventure  of  their  own. 

We  took  an  Arab  pilot  on  board  —  the  first  Arab 
ever  seen  by  the  ladies  of  my  party  —  and  before  the 
red  torch  of  sunset  had  burned  down  to  dusky  purple, 
tenders  like  big,  black  turtles  were  swimming  out  to  the 
Laconia.  We  slaves  of  the  Rose,  however,  had  sur- 
rendered all  personal  interest  in  these  objects.  The  word 
of  Miss  Gilder  had  gone  forth,  and,  unless  Rechid  Bey 


34  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

changed  his  mind  at  the  last  minute,  we  were  all  to 
lurk  in  ambush  until  he  appeared  with  his  wife.  Then, 
somehow,  Monny  was  to  snatch  her  chance  for  a  word 
with  the  Ship's  Mystery;  and  whatever  happened,  none 
of  us  were  to  stir  until  it  had  been  snatched. 

Arguments,  even  from  Biddy,  were  of  no  avail,  and  mine 
were  silenced  by  cold  permission  to  go  away  by  myself  if  I 
chose.  It  was  terrible,  it  was  wicked  to  talk  of  people  mak- 
ing then*  own  beds  and  then  lying  in  them.  It  was  nonsense 
to  say  that,  even  if  the  wife  of  Rechid  Bey  asked  for  help, 
we  could  do  nothing.  Of  course,  we  would  do  something ! 
If  the  girl  wanted  to  be  saved,  she  should  be  saved,  if 
Monny  had  to  act  alone.  Whatever  happened,  Mr. 
Sheridan  and  Mr.  Bailey  must  remain  hi  the  background,  as 
the  very  sight  of  them  would  drive  "  Wretched  Bey"  wild! 

I  was  thinking  of  Anthony's  surprise  when  one  after 
the  other,  two  tenders  should  reach  the  quay  without 
me;  and  if  the  Gilded  Rose  had  not  been  so  sweet,  her 
youthful  cocksureness  would  have  made  me  yearn  to 
slap  her.  In  spite  of  all,  however,  the  girl's  excitement 
became  contagious  as  passengers  crowded  down  the  gang- 
way and  Rechid  Bey  did  not  appear. 

"Allah  —  Allah!"  cried  the  boatman  and  the  Arab 
porters  as  they  hauled  huge  trunks  off  the  ship  onto  a 
float.  Then  one  after  the  other  the  two  tenders  puffed 
away,  packed  from  stem  to  stern.  A  few  people  for  whom 
there  was  no  room  embarked  in  small  boats  manned 
by  jabbering  Arabs.  Two  of  these  cockle-shells  still 
moved  up  and  down  under  the  black,  mountainous  side 
of  the  ship,  and  the  officer  whose  duty  it  was  to  see  the 
passengers  off  was  visibly  restless. 


CLEOPATRA  AND  THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  35 

He  wanted  to  know  if  my  lordship  was  ready;  and  my 
lordship's  brain  was  straining  after  an  excuse  for  further 
delay,  when  a  man  and  woman  arrived  opportunely; 
Rechid  Bey  and  a  veiled,  muffled  form  hooked  to  his  arm; 
a  slender,  appealing  little  figure:  and  through  the  veil  I 
fancied  that  I  caught  a  gleam  of  large,  wistful,  anxious 
eyes. 

The  ladies  were  lying  in  wait  out  of  sight,  and  I  dodged 
behind  the  sturdy  blue  shoulders  guarding  the  gangway. 
This  was  my  first  glimpse  of  the  Ship's  Mystery;  and 
though  I  did  not  like  my  job  (I  had  to  surprise  Rechid 
Bey  and  take  his  mind  off  his  wife)  my  curiosity  was  pricked. 
The  figure  in  sealskin  looked  very  girlish;  the  veiled  head 
was  bowed.  The  mystery  took  on  human  personality  for 
me,  and  Monny  Gilder  was  no  longer  obstinate;  she  was  a 
loyal  friend.  I  did  not  see  that  we  could  be  of  use  to  the 
poor  little  fool  who  had  married  a  Turk,  yet  I  was  suddenly 
ready  to  do  what  I  could.  As  Rechid  Bey  brought  his 
wife  to  the  top  of  the  gangway,  I  lounged  out,  and 
spoke.  Disconcerted,  the  stout,  good-looking  man  of 
thirty  let  drop  the  arm  of  the  girl,  putting  her  behind 
him.  And  this  was  what  Monny  wanted.  They  would 
have  an  instant  for  a  few  disjointed  words:  Monny 
might  perhaps  have  time  to  promise  help  which  the  girl 
dared  not  ask,  even  behind  her  husband's  back. 

"Good  evening,"  I  said  in  French,  taking  advantage 
of  a  smoke-room  acquaintance.  "Is  that  smart  boat 
down  there  for  you?  I  was  trying  to  secure  it,  in  my 
best  Arabic,  but  the  fellow  said  it  was  engaged." 

"Yes,  it  is  mine,"  Rechid  answered,  civilly,  trying  to 
hide  his  annoyance.  "I  telegraphed  from  Naples  to  a 


36  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

friend  in  Alexandria  to  send  me  a  private  boat.  I  do 
not  like  crowds." 

"Neither  do  I,  so  I  waited,  too,"  I  explained.  "They 
told  me  there  were  always  boats,  and  my  big  luggage  has 
gone.  I  suppose  yours  has,  too?  " 

"No  doubt,"  said  Rechid  Bey.  "Good  night,  Milord 
Borrow." 

He  turned  quickly  to  his  wife,  as  if  to  catch  her  at 
something,  but  the  slim  veiled  mystery  stood  meekly 
awaiting  his  will.  To  my  intense  relief  Monny  and  her 
friends  were  invisible.  I  could  hardly  wait  until  the  two 
figures  had  passed  out  of  sight  down  the  gangway,  to 
know  whether  my  skirmishing  attack  had  been  successful. 

"Well?"  I  asked,  as  Mis*  Gilder,  "Mrs.  Jones," 
Cleopatra,  Rachel  Guest,  and  two  maids  filed  out  from 
concealment.  "Did  I  give  you  time  enough?  Did  you 
get  the  chance  you  wanted?" 

"Yes,  thank  you  ever  so  much,"  said  Monny,  with  one 
of  those  dazzling  smiles  that  would  make  her  a  beauty 
even  if  she  were  not  the  favourite  Sunday  supplement 
heiress.  "I  counted  on  you  —  and  she  had  counted  on 
me.  She  must  have  known  I  wouldn't  fail  her,  for  she 
had  this  bit  of  paper  ready.  When  I  jumped  out  she 
slipped  it  into  my  hand.  We  didn't  need  to  say  a  word, 
and  Wretched  Bey  has  no  idea  I  came  near  her." 

"A  bit  of  paper?"  I  echoed,  with  interest.  For  it 
sounded  the  obvious  secret  thing;  a  bit  of  paper  stealthily 
slid  from  hand  to  hand. 

"  Yes,  with  her  address  on  it  —  nothing  more  in  writing : 
but  two  other  words,  pricked  with  a  pin.  'Save  me.' 
Don't  you  see,  if  her  husband  had  pounced  on  it,  no  harm 


CLEOPATRA  AND  THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  37 

would  have  been  done.  He  wouldn't  have  noticed  the 
pin-pricks,  as  a  woman  would.  I  thought  she  was  going 
to  live  in  Cairo,  and  I  believe  she  thought  so  too,  at  first. 
But  she's  written  down  the  name  of  a  house  in  a  place 
called  Asiut.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  town,  Lord 
Ernest?" 

" Oh,  yes,"  said  I.  "The  Nile  boats  stop  there  and  people 
see  tombs  and  mummied  cats  and  buy  silver  shawls." 

"Good!"  said  Monny.  "My  boat  shall  stop  there,  but 
not  only  for  tombs  or  cats  or  silver  shawls.  I  have  an  idea 
that  the  poor  girl  is  frightened,  and  wants  me  to  help 
her  escape." 

" Great  heavens !"  I  exclaimed.  "You  mustn't  on  any 
account  get  mixed  up  in  an  adventure  of  that  sort!  Re- 
member, this  is  Egypt " 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Monny,  "  if  it's  the  moon." 

She  believed  that  this  settled  the  matter.  I  believed 
the  exact  opposite.  But  I  left  it  at  that,  for  the  moment, 
as  the  boat  was  waiting,  and  Asiut  seemed  a  long  way  off. 

This  was  my  first  lesson  in  what  Brigit  called  "  Monny 's 
little  ways";  but  the  second  lesson  was  on  the  heels  of 
the  first. 


in 

A  DISAPPOINTMENT  AND  A  DRAGOMAN 

IT  WAS  a  blow  not  to  see  Anthony  on  the  quay.  And 
other  blows  rained  thick  and  fast.  My  two  consolations 
were  that  I  was  actually  in  Egypt;  and  that  in  the  con- 
fusion Rechid  Bey  with  the  veiled  figure  of  his  silent 
bride  had  slipped  away  without  further  incidents.  Their 
disappearance  was  regretted  by  no  one  save  Monny, 
unless  it  was  Neill  Sheridan,  and  he  was  discreet  enough 
to  keep  his  feelings  to  himself.  The  girl  was  not.  She 
protested  on  principle,  although  she  had  the  Asiut 
address.  But  where  all  men,  black  and  brown  and  white, 
were  yelling  with  the  whole  force  of  their  lungs,  and 
pitching  and  tossing  luggage  (mostly  the  wrong  luggage) 
with  all  the  force  of  their  arms,  nobody  heard  or  cared 
what  she  said.  For  once  Monny  Gilder  was  disregarded 
by  a  crowd  of  men.  This  could  happen  only  at  the 
departure  of  a  boat  tram!  But  if  I  was  not  thinking 
about  her,  I  was  thinking  about  her  fifteen  trunks,  and 
Cleopatra's  sixteen  and  Biddy's  and  Miss  Guest's  two. 
The  maids  were  worse  than  useless,  and  I  had  no  valet. 
I  have  never  had  a  valet.  I  clawed,  I  fought,  I  wrestled 
in  an  arena  where  it  was  impossible  to  tell  the  wild  beasts 
from  the  martyrs.  I  rescued  small  bags  from  under  big 
boxes,  and  dashed  off  with  a  few  samples  to  the  train, 

38 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT  AND  A  DRAGOMAN   39 

in  order  to  secure  places.  All  other  able-bodied  men, 
including  Sheridan  and  the  artist  sculptor  Bailey,  were 
engaged  in  the  same  pursuit,  and  our  plan  was  to  "bag"  a 
whole  compartment  between  us  in  the  boat-special 
for  Cairo.  But  we  never  met  again  till  we  reached  our 
destination.  One  expects  Egypt  to  warm  the  heart  with 
its  weather,  but  the  cold  was  bitter;  so  was  the  disap- 
pointment about  Anthony.  Both  cut  through  me  like 
knives.  Darkness  had  fallen  before  I  was  ready  to  join 
the  ladies  —  if  I  could.  In  passing  earlier,  I  had  shouted 
to  the  maids  where  to  find  the  places,  grabbed  with 
difficulty,  for  their  mistresses.  Whether  they  had  found 
them,  or  whether  any  of  the  party  still  existed,  was  the 
next  question;  and  it  was  settled  only  as  the  train  began, 
to  move.  The  compartment  I  had  selected  was  boiling 
over  with  a  South  American  president  and  his  effects;  but 
as  I  stood  transfixed  by  this  transformation  scene,  Cleo- 
patra's maid  hailed  me  from  the  end  of  the  corridor. 
Les  quatres  dames  were  in  the  restaurant  car.  Why? 
Ah,  it  was  the  Arab  they  had  engaged  as  dragoman,  who 
had  advised  the  change  in  milord's  absence.  He  said 
it  would  be  better,  as  of  course  they  would  want  dinner. 
He  himself  was  looking  after  the  small  baggages,  except 
the  little  sacks  of  the  hand  which  the  maids  kept. 

What,  the  ladies  had  engaged  a  dragoman!  And 
they  had  trusted  him  —  a  stranger  —  with  luggage? 
Then  it  was  as  good  as  gone!  But  no,  mildly  ventured 
Cleopatra's  handmaiden.  The  dragoman  came  recom- 
mended. He  had  a  letter  from  a  friend  of  milord. 

My  thoughts  jumped,  of  course,  to  Anthony.  Yet 
how  could  he  have  known  that  I  was  travelling  with 


40  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

ladies?  And  if  by  some  Marconian  miracle  he  had  heard, 
why  should  he,  who  prided  himself  on  "not  bothering" 
with  women,  trouble  to  provide  a  dragoman  at  Alexandria? 

I  hurried  to  the  dining  car,  and  found  Monny  with  her 
satellites  seated  at  a  table,  three  of  them  looking  as  calmly 
innocent  as  if  they  had  not  upset  my  well-laid  scheme 
for  then-  comfort.  Biddy  alone  had  a  guilty  air,  because, 
perhaps,  I  was  more  important  in  her  eyes  than  in  the 
eyes  of  the  others.  "Oh,  dear  Duffer,"  she  began  to 
wheedle  me:  "We  hope  you  don't  mind  our  coming 
here?  We  thought  it  a  good  idea,  for  we're  starving, 
although  we're  perfectly  happy  because  we're  in  Egypt, 
and  because  it's  such  a  quaint  train,  so  different  and 
Eastern.  The  dragoman  who " 

"I  think  he  came  from  your  friend  Anthony  with 
an'H,'"  Cleopatra  broke  in.  "He  seemed  providential. 
And  he  speaks  English.  The  only  objection  is,  he's  not 
as  good-looking  as  Monny  and  I  wanted  our  dragoman 
to  be.  We  did  hope  to  get  one  who  would  be  becoming 
to  us,  you  see,  and  give  the  right  sort  of  Eastern  back- 
ground. But  I  suppose  one  can't  have  everything! 
And  it  was  I  who  said  your  friend  Anthony's  messenger 
must  be  engaged  even  if  his  face  is  —  is  —  rather  like 
an  accident! " 

"It's  like  a  catastrophe,"  remarked  Monny,  looking  as 
if  she  blamed  me. 

"Where  is  it?"  I  wanted  to  know. 

"It's  waiting  in  a  vestibule  outside  where  the  cook's 
cooking,"  Biddy  explained  ungrammatically.  "I  told 
it  you'd  want  to  see  it.  And  it's  got  a  letter  for  you  from 
some  one." 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT  AND  A  DRAGOMAN  41 

"Did  the  fellow  say  the  letter  was  from  Fenton?"  I 
inquired. 

"No.  He  only  said,  from  a  friend  who'd  expected 
to  meet  you;  and  Mrs.  East  was  sure  it  must  be  from 
the  one  you  were  talking  about." 

Wasting  no  more  words,  I  marched  off  to  the  fountain- 
head  for  information.  Near  the  open  door  of  the  infinites- 
imal kitchen  stood  a  fat  little  dark  man  with  a  broken  nose, 
and  one  white  eye.  The  other  eye,  as  if  to  make  up,  was 
singularly,  repellently  intelligent.  It  fixed  itself  upon  me, 
as  I  approached,  with  eager  questioning  which  melted  into 
ingratiating  politeness.  Instinct  warned  the  fellow  that 
I  was  the  person  he  awaited.  At  the  same  moment, 
instinct  was  busily  whispering  to  me  that  there  was 
something  fishy  about  him,  despite  the  alleged  letter. 
He  did  not  look  the  type  of  man  Fenton  would  recommend. 
And  though  his  face  was  of  an  unwholesome  olive  tint, 
and  he  wore  a  tarbush,  and  a  galabeah  as  long  as  a 
dressing-gown,  under  his  short  European  coat,  I  was  sure 
he  was  not  of  Arab  or  Egyptian  blood. 

"Milord  Borrow?"  he  began,  displaying  large  white 
teeth,  of  which  he  was  evidently  proud. 

I  assented. 

"My  name  is  Bedr  el  Gemaly,"  he  introduced  himself. 
"1  have  a  letter  for  milord." 

"Who  gave  it  to  you? "  I  challenged  him. 

The  ingratiating  smile  seemed  to  flicker  like  a  candle 
flame  in  a  sudden  puff  of  wind.  "A  friend  of  my,  a 
dragoman.  He  could  not  come  to  bring  it.  So  he  give 
it  to  me.  The  gentleman's  name  was  Fenton.  My  friend, 
he  was  sent  from  him  at  Cairo."  As  the  fellow  spoke, 


42  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

In  fairly  good  English,  he  took  from  a  pocket  of  the  short 
coat  which  spoiled  his  costume,  a  colourful  silk  handker- 
chief. Unwrapping  this,  he  produced  an  envelope.  It 
was  addressed  to  me  in  the  handwriting  of  Fenton,  but 
before  opening  it  I  went  on  with  my  catechism. 

"Then  the  letter  doesn't  introduce  you,  but  your 
friend?" 

The  smile  was  practically  dead  now.  "I  think  it  do  not 
introduce  any  ones.  It  is  only  a  letter.  My  friend 
Abdullah  engaged  to  cany  it.  But  he  got  sick  too  soon 
to  come  to  the  ship." 

"I  see,"  said  I.  "You  seem  to  have  used  the  letter, 
however,  to  get  yourself  taken  on  as  dragoman  by  the 
ladies  of  my  party.  How  the  devil  did  you  find  out  that 
they  were  travelling  with  me,  eh?"  I  shot  the  question  at 
him  and  tried  to  imitate  gimlets  with  my  eyes.  But  he  was 
ready  with  his  answer.  No  doubt  he  had  prepared  it. 

"I  see  you  all  together,  from  a  distant  place,  before 
I  come  there.  A  gentleman  off  the  ship,  he  pointed  you 
out  when  I  ask  where  I  find  Milord  Borrow.  I  see  you, 
and  those  ladies.  When  I  come,  you  was  away  already, 
so  I  speak  to  them,  and  say  if  I  could  help,  I  be  very 
pleased.  When  I  tell  one  of  the  ladies  I  was  from  a 
friend  of  milord's  with  a  letter,  she  say,  is  the  friend's 
name  Captain  Fenton,  and  I  say  'yes>  madame,  Captain 
Fenton,  that  is  the  name;  and  I  am  a  dragoman  to  show 
Egypt  to  the  strangers.  I  know  it  all  very  well,  from 
Alexandria  way  up  Nile.'  Then  the  lady  say  very  quick 
she  will  take  me  for  her  dragoman.  I  am  pleased,  for  I 
was  not  engaged  for  season,  and  she  say  if  I  satisfy  her  she 
keep  me  in  Cairo  and  on  from  there." 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT  AND  A  DRAGOMAN  43 

"H'm,"  I  grunted,  still  screwing  in  the  gimlets.  "I  see 
you're  not  an  Egyptian.  You  have  selected  the  name  of  an 
Armenian  famous  in  history.  Are  you  Armenian?" 

"I  am  the  same  thing  as  Egyptian,  I  bin  here  for  drago- 
man so  many  years.  I  am  Mussulman  in  faith.  But  I 
was  born  Armenian,"  he  admitted. 

"You  speak  English  with  an  American  accent,"  I 
went  on.  "Have  you  lived  in  America? " 

"One  time  a  family  take  me  to  New  York  and  I  stay  a 
year  or  two.  Then  I  get  homesick  and  come  to  Egypt 
again.  But  I  learn  to  talk  maybe  some  like  American, 
peoples  while  I  am  over  there." 

It  sounded  plausible  enough,  the  whole  story.  And  if 
Mrs.  East  had  snapped  the  dragoman  up  under  the 
impression  that  he  came  from  a  man  she  had  determined 
to  meet,  the  fellow  might  be  no  more  to  blame  than  any 
other  boaster,  touting  in  his  own  interest.  Still,  I  had  an 
uneasy  feeling  that  something  lay  hidden  under  Armenian 
plausibility.  Bedr  el  Gemaly  was  perhaps  a  thief  who 
had  courted  a  chance  for  a  big  haul  of  jewellery.  Yet 
if  that  were  all,  why  hadn't  he  hopped  off  the  train  as  it 
began  to  move,  with  the  ladies'  hand  luggage?  He  might 
easily  have  got  away,  and  disappeared  into  space,  before 
we  could  wire  the  police  of  Alexandria  to  look  out  for 
him.  He  had  not  done  that,  but  had  waited,  and  risked 
facing  my  suspicions.  And  he  must  have  realized,  while 
in  charge  of  Monny's  and  Cleopatra's  attractive  dress- 
ing bags,  that  he  was  missing  an  opportunity  such  as 
might  never  come  to  him  again.  This  conduct  suggested 
an  honest  desire  to  be  a  good  dragoman.  Yet  —  well, 
I  resolved  not  to  let  the  gimlets  rust  until  Bedr  el  Gemaly 


44  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

had  been  got  rid  of.  If  Mrs.  East  had  really  promised 
him  a  permanent  engagement,  she  could  salve  his  dis- 
appointment by  giving  him  a  day's  pay.  I  would  take 
the  responsibility  of  sending  him  about  his  business. 

Without  further  parley  I  opened  the  letter.  It  was 
short,  evidently  written  in  a  hurry.  Anthony  had  scrib- 
bled: 

Horribly  sorry,  dear  old  Duffer,  but  I'm  wanted  by  the 
Powers  that  Be  in  Cairo.  No  other  reason  could  have  kept  me 
from  Alexandria.  I  was  afraid  a  wire  wouldn't  reach  you,  so  I 
sent  a  decent  old  chap  by  the  train  I  meant  to  take.  He's 
pledged  to  find  you  on  the  quay,  and  he  will  —  unless  some  one 
makes  him  drunk.  This  seems  unlikely  to  happen,  as  he  won't 
be  paid  till  he  gets  back,  and  having  no  friends  on  earth,  no- 
body will  stand  him  drinks.  Beastly  luck,  but  I  shan't  be  able 
to  see  you  to-night  even  in  Cairo.  Tell  you  all  to-morrow  — 
and  there's  a  lot  to  tell,  about  many  things. 

Yours  ever, 

A.  F. 

The  messenger  had  "no  friend  on  earth,"  according  to 
Fenton.  Then  the  friendship  stated  to  exist  between  him 
and  Bedr  el  Gemaly  must  have  come  readymade  from 
heaven,  or  —  its  opposite.  I  guessed  the  nature  of  the 
"decent  old  chap's"  illness.  But  I  should  have  been 
glad  to  know  whether  it  had  been  produced  by  design  or 
accident. 

When  I  went  back  to  the  ladies,  Bedr  went  with  me, 
at  my  firm  suggestion,  and  gave  them  then"  handbags 
to  use  as  footstools.  Dinner  was  ready,  and  a  seat  had 
been  kept  for  me  at  a  table  just  across  the  aisle,  but  before 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT  AND  A  DRAGOMAN  45 

beginning,  I  explained  the  real  circumstances  governing 
the  dragoman's  arrival.  "Whatever  else  he  may  be, 
he's  a  shark,"  I  said,  "or  he  wouldn't  have  traded  on  a 
misunderstanding  to  grab  an  engagement.  You  owe 
him  nothing  really,  but  if  you  choose,  give  him  a  sovereign 
when  we  get  to  Cairo,  and  I'll  tell  him  that  I  have  a 
dragoman  hi  view  for  the  party.  He'll  then  have  two 
days'  pay,  according  to  the  guide-books." 

With  this,  I  slipped  into  my  seat,  thinking  the  matter 
settled.  But  between  courses,  Monny  leaned  across 
from  her  table  (she  and  I  had  end  seats)  and  said  that 
she  and  her  aunt  had  been  talking  about  that  poor  drago- 
man. "Aunt  Clara  raised  his  hopes,"  the  girl  went  on, 
"and  now  Rachel  Guest  and  I  think  it  would  be  mean  to 
send  him  away,  just  because  he's  hideous." 

" That  won't  be  the  reason ! "  said  I.  "It  will  be  because 
we  don't  know  anything  about  him,  and  because  in  his 
sharpness  he's  over-reached  himself." 

"But  we  do  know  things  about  him.  He  showed  Aunt 
Clara  letters  from  people  who'd  employed  him,  lots  of 
Americans  whose  names  we've  heard,  and  some  we're 
acquainted  with.  The  tragic  thing  is,  that  he  finds 
difficulty  in  getting  engaged  because  of  his  face.  I've  felt 
guilty  ever  since  I  called  it  a  catastrophe.  Of  course  it 
is;  but  I  said  it  to  be  funny,  which  was  cruel.  And  we 
deserve  to  punish  ourselves  by  keeping  the  poor  wretch  a 
few  days,  or  more,  if  he's  good." 

"I  thought  you  wanted  a  becoming  dragoman?"  I 
reminded  her. 

"Oh,  that  was  just  our  silliness.  I  do  like  good-looking 
people,  I  must  say.  But  what  does  it  matter  whether  a 


46  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

brown  person  is  handsome  or  homely,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it?  Besides,  we  can  have  another  dragoman,  too, 
for  ornament,  if  we  run  across  a  very  picturesque  one." 

I  laughed.  "But  you  can't  go  up  the  Nile  on  a  boat 
with  a  drove  of  private  dragomans,  you  know!" 

"I  don't  know,  Lord  Ernest.  And  why  don't  you 
call  them  dragomen?  You  make  them  sound  as  if  they 
•were  some  kind  of  animal." 

"Dragomans  is  the  plural,"  I  persisted. 

"Well,  I  shall  call  them  dragomen.  And  if  this  poor 
thing  can't  get  any  one  else  to  drag,  he  shall  drag  us  up 
the  Nile,  if  he's  as  intelligent  in  his  ways  as  he  is  in  that 
one  eye,  which  is  so  like  a  hard-boiled  egg.  You  see,  Lord 
Ernest,  we're  going  to  have  a  boat  of  our  own.  A  steam 
dahabeah  is  what  we  want,  so  we  won't  be  at  the  mercy 
of  the  wind.  And  we  can  have  all  the  dragomen  we  choose, 
can't  we?" 

"I  suppose  you  can  fill  up  your  cabins  with  them,"  I 
agreed,  because  I  felt  that  the  Gilded  Rose  wished  me  to 
argue  the  point,  and  that  if  I  did  I  should  be  worsted.  As 
I  should  not  be  on  board  the  dahabeah  in  question,  it 
would  not  matter  to  me  personally  if  the  boat  were 
entirely  manned  by  dragomans.  Except  that  there  would 
in  that  case  probably  be  a  collision,  and  I  should  not  be 
near  to  save  Biddy  —  and  incidentally  the  girl  Biddy 
wished  me  to  marry. 

After  that,  we  went  on  eating  our  dinner  and  talking 
of  Egypt,  Miss  Guest  doing  all  the  listening,  as  usual. 
When  we  had  finished,  we  kept  our  places  because  we 
had  no  others.  Cleopatra  was  curious  about  my  friend's 
failure  to  arrive,  but  I  put  her  off  with  vaguenesses; 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT  AND  A  DRAGOMAN  47 

and  said  to  myself  that,  for  Anthony's  sake,  it  was  well 
that  mysterious  business  had  kept  him  hi  Cairo.  Still,  I 
wondered  what  the  business  was:  why  he  would  be  unable 
to  see  me  that  night:  and  what  were  the  "many  things'* 
he  had  to  tell. 


IV 
A  MAN  IN  A  GREEN  TURBAN 

I  SHALL  never  know  for  certain  whether  or  not  OUT  future 
was  entirely  shaped  by  Monny's  resolve  to  breakfast  on 
the  terrace  of  Shepheard's  Hotel  next  morning. 

A  great  many  remarkable  things  have  happened  on 
that  historic  site.  Napoleon  made  the  place  his  head- 
quarters. General  Kleber  was  murdered  in  the  garden. 
Half  the  most  important  people  in  the  world  have  had 
tea  on  the  terrace:  but,  according  to  a  German  waiter, 
there  was  one  deed  yet  undone.  Nobody  had  ever 
ordered  breakfast  out  of  doors. 

Of  course,  Monny  got  what  she  wanted.  Not  by 
storming,  not  by  putting  on  power-of-wealth  airs,  but 
simply  by  turning  bright  pink  and  looking  large-eyed. 
At  once  that  waiter  rushed  off,  and  fetched  other  waiters; 
and  almost  before  the  invited  guests  knew  what  to  expect, 
two  tables  had  been  fitted  together,  covered  with  white, 
adorned  with  fresh  roses,  and  set  forth  with  cups  and 
saucers.  I  was  the  one  man  invited,  and  I  felt  like  an 
actor  called  to  play  a  new  part  in  an  old  scene,  a  scene 
vaguely,  excitingly  familiar.  Could  I  possibly  be  remem- 
bering it,  I  asked  myself,  or  was  my  impression  but  the 
result  of  a  life-long  debauch  of  Egyptian  photographs? 
Anyhow,  there  was  the  impression,  with  a  thrill  in  it; 

48 


A  MAN  IN  A  GREEN  TURBAN  49 

and  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  be  handsomer,  more  romantic, 
altogether  more  vivid,  if  I  were  to  live  up  to  the  moving 
picture.  It  seemed  as  if  nothing  would  be  too  extraor- 
dinary to  do,  if  I  wanted  to  match  my  surroundings.  I 
thought,  even  if  I  burst  into  a  passionate  Arab  love-song 
and  proposed  to  Monny  across  the  table,  it  would  be  quite 
the  right  note.  But  somehow  I  didn't  feel  inclined  to 
propose.  It  was  enough  to  admire  her  over  the  rim 
of  a  coffee  cup.  In  her  white  tussore  ( I  heard  Biddy  call 
it  tussore)  and  drooping,  garden-type  of  hat,  she  was  a 
different  girl  from  the  girl  of  the  ship.  She  had  been  a 
winter  girl  in  white  fur,  then.  Now  she  was  a  summer 
girl,  and  a  radiant  vision,  twice  as  pretty  as  before, 
especially  in  this  Oriental  frame;  still  I  was  waiting  to  see 
myself  fall  in  love  with  her,  much  in  the  same  way  that 
Biddy  was  waiting.  And  there  was  that  Oriental  frame! 
It  belonged  to  my  past,  and  perhaps  Monny  Gilder  didn't 
belong  even  to  my  future,  so  it  was  excusable  if  I  thought 
of  it  more  than  of  her. 

It  was  hardly  nine  o'clock,  but  already  the  wonderful 
coloured  cinema  show  of  Cairo  daily  life  had  begun  to 
flash  and  flicker  past  the  terrace  of  Shepheard's,  where 
East  and  West  meet  and  mingle  more  sensationally  than 
anywhere  in  Egypt.  Nobody  save  ourselves  had  dared 
suggest  breakfast;  but  travellers  were  pouring  into  the 
hotel,  and  pouring  out.  Pretty  women  and  plain  women 
were  sitting  at  the  little  wicker  tables  to  read  letters,  or 
discuss  plans  for  the  day  with  each  other  or  their  dragomans. 
Officers  in  khaki  came  and  talked  to  them  about  golf 
and  gymkhanas.  Down  on  the  pavement,  close  under 
the  balustrade,  crowded  young  and  old  Egyptian  men 


50  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

with  dark  faces  and  wonderful  eyes  or  no  eyes  at  all, 
struggling  to  sell  painted  post-cards,  strings  of  blue-gray 
mummy  beads;  necklaces  of  cornelian  and  great  lumps 
of  amber;  fans,  perfumes,  sample  sticks  of  smoking 
incense,  toy  camels  cleverly  made  of  jute;  fly  whisks 
from  the  Sudan  with  handles  of  beads  and  dangling  shells; 
scarab  rings  and  brooches;  cheap,  gay  jewellery,  scarfs 
from  Asiut,  white,  black,  pale  green  and  purple,  glit- 
tering like  miniature  cataracts  of  silver,  as  brown  arms 
held  them  up.  Darting  Arab  urchins  hawked  tame 
ichneumons,  or  shouted  newspapers  for  sale  —  English, 
American,  Greek,  French,  German,  Italian,  and  Turkish. 
Copper-tinted,  classic-featured  youths  in  white  had  golden 
crowns  of  bananas  round  then*  turbans;  withered  patri- 
archs in  blue  galabeahs  offered  oranges,  or  immense 
bunches  of  mixed  flowers,  fresh  and  fragrant  as  the  morning; 
or  baskets  of  strawberries  red  and  bright  as  rubies. 
Dignified  Arabs  stalked  by,  bearing  on  nobly  poised 
heads  pots  of  growing  rose-bushes  or  arum  lilies,  or 
azaleas.  Jet-black  giants,  wound  in  rainbow-striped  cot- 
tons, clanked  brass  saucers  like  cymbals,  advertising 
the  sweet  drinks  in  their  glass  jars,  while  memory  whis- 
pered in  my  ears  the  Arab  name  "sherbetly."  Across 
the  street,  clear  silver-gold  sunshine  of  winter  in  Egypt 
shone  on  precious  stones,  on  carved  ivories,  silver  anklets, 
Persian  rugs,  and  embroideries,  brilliant  as  humming- 
birds' wings,  all  displayed  in  the  windows  of  shops  where 
dark  eyes  looked  out  eagerly  for  buyers.  Everything  was 
for  sale,  for  sale  to  the  strangers!  The  whole  clam- 
ouring city  seemed  to  consist  of  one  vast,  concentrated 
desire  on  the  part  of  brown  people  to  sell  things  to  fair 


A  MAN  IN  A  GREEN  TURBAN  51 

people.  They  shouted  and  wheedled  and  besought  on  the 
sidewalks;  and  the  roadway  between  was  a  wide  river  of 
colour  and  life.  Motor  cars  with  Arab  chauffeurs  car- 
ried rich  Turks  to  business,  or  to  an  audience  of  State. 
Now  and  then  a  face  of  ivory  glimmered  through  a  gauzy 
veil  and  eyes  of  ink  and  diamonds  shot  starry  glances 
from  passing  carriage  windows.  Erect  English  women 
drove  high  dog-carts.  Gordon  Highlanders  swung  along 
in  the  kilt,  more  at  home  in  Cairo  then  in  Edinburgh, 
the  droning  of  their  pipes  as  Oriental  as  the  drone  of  a 
raita,  or  the  beat  of  tom-toms.  A  wedding  party  with  a 
hidden  bride  hi  a  yellow  chariot,  met  a  funeral,  and  yash- 
maked  faces  peeped  from  curtained  windows,  in  one  pro- 
cession, to  stare  at  the  wailing,  marching  men  of  the 
other,  and  to  shrink  back  hastily  from  the  sight  of  the 
coffin.  Tangled  it  would  seem  inextricably  with  streams 
of  traffic,  surging  both  ways,  moved  the  "ships  of  the  desert," 
loaded  with  emerald-green  bersim;  long,  lilting  necks,  and 
calm,  mysterious  eyes  of  camels  high  above  the  cloaked 
heads  of  striding  Bedouins,  heads  of  defiant  Arab  pris- 
oners, chained  and  handcuffed  to  each  other;  heads  of 
blue-eyed  water  buffaloes,  and  heads  of  trim  white,  tas- 
selled  donkeys. 

None  of  us  talked  very  much,  as  we  sat  at  the  break- 
fast table:  the  novelty  and  wonder  of  the  scene  made  the 
actors  forget  their  words :  and  if  we  had  been  able  to  talk, 
we  could  not  have  appreciated  each  other's  rhapsodies, 
over  the  shoutings  of  men  who  wanted  us  to  buy  their 
wares,  and  harangues  of  dragomans  who  wished,  as  Monny 
said,  to  "drag"  us.  These  latter,  especially,  were  per- 
sistent, and  Bedr  the  One  Eyed,  having  been  forbidden 


52  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

to  come  till  ten  o'clock,  was  not  on  the  spot  to  give  pro- 
tection. Our  method  at  first  was  to  appear  oblivious, 
but  presently  in  my  wickedest  Arabic,  I  would  have  ordered 
the  troop  away  if  Monny  had  not  interfered. 

"Don't!"  she  said,  "they're  part  of  the  picture. 
Besides,  they've  more  right  here  than  we  have.  It's 
their  country,  not  ours.  And  they're  so  interesting  — 
most  of  them.  That  tall  man  over  there,  for  instance, 
with  the  green  turban.  He's  the  only  one  who  hasn't 
opened  his  mouth.  Just  to  show  him  that  virtue's  its 
own  reward,  I'm  going  to  engage  him.  Will  you  call 
him  to  us,  please,  Lord  Ernest?" 

Sitting  as  I  sat,  I  could  not  see  the  person  indicated. 
"What  do  you  want  him  for,  Miss  Gilder?"  I  obeyed 
temptation,  and  asked. 

"Why,  to  be  a  dragoman,  of  course,"  she  explained. 
"That's  what  he's  for.  I  told  you,  I'd  have  a  picturesque 
one  for  ornament.  This  creature's  a  perfect  specimen." 

I  stood  up  reluctantly,  and  looked  down  over  the 
balustrade.  "A  man  with  a  green  turban?"  I  repeated. 
"But  that  means  he's  a  Hadji,  who's  been  to  Mecca  and 
back.  I  never  heard  of  a  dragoman " 

I  stopped  short  in  my  argument.  My  eyes  had  found 
the  man  with  the  green  turban. 

He  stood  at  some  distance  behind  the  pavement- 
merchants  and  self-advertising  dragomans  who  pressed 
against  the  railing.  In  his  long  galabeah  of  Sudan  silk, 
ashes  of  roses  in  colour,  he  was  tall  and  straight  as  a  palm, 
gravely  dignified  with  his  folded  arms  and  the  haughty 
remoteness  of  his  expression.  Dark  and  silent,  half- 
disdainf  ul,  half -amused,  he  was  like  a  prince  compared  with 


A  MAN  IN  A  GREEN  TURBAN  53 

his  humbler  brethren;  but  there  was  another  resemblance 
more  relevant  and  intimate  which  cut  my  sentence  short. 

"By  Jove,"  I  thought,  "how  like  he  is  to  Anthony 
Fenton!" 

He  was  looking,  not  at  me,  but  at  Miss  Gilder,  quite 
respectfully  yet  hypnotically,  as  if  by  way  of  an  experi- 
ment he  had  been  willing  her  to  find  and  single  out  the 
one  motionless  figure,  the  one  person  whose  tongue  had 
not  called  attention  to  himself. 

Yes,  I  thought  again,  he  was  an  Arab  copy  of  Anthony, 
but  more  as  Anthony  had  been  years  ago  before  his 
moustache  grew,  than  as  Anthony  had  become  in  late 
years.  Still,  there  were  the  aquiline  features,  the  long, 
rather  sad  eyes  shaded  with  thick,  straight  lashes,  the 
eyebrows  raised  at  the  bridge  of  the  thin  nose,  then 
sloping  steeply  down  toward  the  temples;  the  slight 
working  of  muscles  in  the  cheeks;  the  peculiarly  charm- 
ing mouth  which  could  be  irresistible  in  a  smile,  the 
stern,  contradictory  chin  marring  by  its  prominence  the 
otherwise  perfect  oval  of  the  face.  I  wondered  if  An- 
thony had  as  noble  a  throat  as  this  collarless  galabeah 
left  uncovered,  reminding  myself  that  I  could  not  at  all 
recall  Anthony's  throat.  Then,  as  the  sombre  eyes  turned 
to  me,  drawn  perhaps  by  my  stare,  I  was  stunned, 
flabbergasted,  what  you  will,  by  realizing  that  Anthony 
himself  was  looking  at  me  from  under  the  green  turban. 

The  dark  face  was  blankly  expressionless.  He  might 
have  been  gazing  through  my  head.  His  eyes  neither 
twinkled  with  fun  nor  sent  a  message  of  warning; 
but  somehow  I  knew  that  he  saw  me,  that  he  had  been 
watching  me  for  a  long  tirae. 


54  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"You  see  the  one  I  mean,  don't  you?"  asked  Monny. 
"  Well,  that's  the  one  I  want.  I'll  take  him." 

She  spoke  as  if  she  were  selecting  a  horse  at  a  horse 
show. 

Anthony  had  brought  this  on  himself,  but  I  was  not 
angry  with  Anthony.  I  was  angry  with  the  girl  for 
putting  her  finger  into  our  pie. 

"That 'snot  a  dragoman,"  I  assured  her.  "If  he  were, 
he'd  come  and  bawl  out  his  accomplishments,  as  the 
others  do.  He's  a  very  different  sort  of  chap." 

"That's  why  I  want  him,"  said  Monny.  "And  if  he 
isn't  a  dragoman,  he'll  jump  at  being  one  if  I  offer  to 
pay  him  enough.  He's  an  Egyptian,  anyhow,  by  his 
clothes,  or  a  Bedouin  or  something  —  although  he  isn't 
as  dark  as  the  rest  of  these  men.  I  suppose  he  must 
know  a  little  about  his  own  city  and  country." 

"It  doesn't  follow  he'd  tell  travellers  about  them 
for  money,"  said  I.  "He  looks  to  me  a  man  of  good 
birth  and  distinction  in  old  fashioned  dress.  Why  he's 
lingering  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  this  hotel  I  can't 
explain,  but  I'm  certain  he  isn't  touting.  Probably  he's 
waiting  for  a  friend." 

"He's  the  best  looking  Arab  we've  seen  yet,"  remarked 
Mrs.  East.  "Like  my  idea  of  an  Egyptian  gentleman." 

"Pooh!"  said  Monny.     "Just  test  him,  Lord  Ernest." 

"Sorry,  but  I  can't  do  it,"  I  answered,  with  a  firmness 
which  ought  to  have  been  tried  on  her  long  ago.  "And 
I  wouldn't  discuss  him  in  such  a  loud  tone  of  voice.  He 
may  understand  English." 

"We  have  to  yell  to  hear  ourselves  speak  over  all 
this  row,"  Biddy  apologized  for  her  darling;  but  she  need 


A  MAN  IN  A  GREEN  TURBAN  55 

not  have  troubled  herself.     Miss  Gilder  had  been  deaf 
to  my  implied  reproach. 

"I'm  glad  I'm  an  American  girl,"  she  said.  "When 
I  want  things  I  want  them  so  dreadfully  I  just  go  for 
them,  and  surprise  them  so  much  that  I  get  them  before 
they  know  where  they  are.  Now  I'm  going  for  this 
dragoman." 

"He's  not  a  drag "  I  persisted,  but  she  cut  me 

short. 

"I  bet  you  my  hat  he  will  be  one!  What  will  you  bet 
that  he  won't,  Lord  Ernest?" 

"I'll  bet  you  his  green  turban,"  said  I. 

"How  can  you  get  it?" 

"As  easily  as  you  can  get  him,"  I  retorted.  "It's 
a  safe  bet." 

Monny  looked  excited,  but  firm.  Luckily,  as  she  does 
it  so  often,  it's  becoming  to  her  to  look  firm.  (I  have 
noticed  that  it's  not  becoming  to  most  girls.  It  squares 
their  jaws  and  makes  their  eyes  snap.)  But  the  spoiled 
daughter  of  the  dead  Cannon  King  at  her  worst,  merely 
looks  pathetically  earnest  and  Minerva-like.  This,  I  sup- 
pose, is  one  of  the  "little  ways"  she  has  acquired,  since  she 
gave  up  kicking  and  screaming  people  into  submission. 
As  Biddy  says,  the  girl  can  be  charming  not  only  when  she 
wants  to  be,  but  quite  often  when  she  doesn't. 

The  man  with  the  green  turban  was  no  longer  engaged 
in  hypnotizing.  He  had  retired  within  himself,  and  appeared 
oblivious  to  the  outer  world.  Yet  nobody  jostled  the  tall, 
straight  figure  which  stood  with  folded  arms,  lightly 
leaning  against  a  tree.  The  colour  of  his  turban  was  sacred 
in  the  eyes  of  the  crowd;  and  when  Miss  Gilder,  leaning 


56  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

over  the  terrace  railing  beckoned  him,  surprise  rather  than 
jealousy  showed  on  the  faces  of  the  unwanted  dragomans. 
As  for  the  wearer  of  the  turban,  he  did  what  I  expected 
and  wished  him  to  do:  paid  not  the  slightest  attention 
to  the  gesture.  Whatever  the  motive  for  his  masquerade, 
it  was  not  to  attract  anything  feminine. 

I  smiled  sardonically.  "That's  a  nice  hat  you've  got 
on,  Miss  Gilder,"  I  remarked. 

"Do  you  collect  girls'  hats?"  she  asked  sweetly. 
"But  mine  isn't  eligible  yet  for  your  collection.  Let  me 
see,  what  did  you  say  he  was?  Oh,  a  Hadji!"  And  she 
shrilled  forth  sweetly,  her  voice  sounding  young  and 
clear,  "Hadji!  Hadji!  Effendi!  Venez  ici,  s'il  vous  plait. 
Please  come  here." 

I  could  have  been  knocked  flat  by  a  blow  of  the 
smallest,  cheapest  ostrich  feather  in  the  hands  of  any 
street-merchant.  For  he  came.  Anthony  came!  Not 
to  look  meekly  up  from  the  pavement  below  the  railing, 
but  to  ascend  the  steps  of  the  terrace,  and  advance  with 
grave  dignity  toward  our  table.  Within  a  yard  of  us  he 
stopped,  giving  to  me,  not  to  Miss  Gilder,  the  beautiful 
Arab  salute,  a  touch  on  forehead  and  heart. 

"You  devil!"  I  was  saying  to  myself.  "So  you  walk 
into  this  trap,  do  you,  and  calmly  trust  me  to  get  you  out. 
Serve  you  right  if  I  don't  move  hand  or  foot."  And  I 
almost  made  up  my  mind  that  I  wouldn't.  But  I  was 
interested.  I  wanted  intensely  to  know  what  the  dickens 
Anthony  was  up  to,  and  whether  he  would  have  been  up 
to  it  if  he'd  known  the  sort  of  young  woman  he  had  to 
deal  with. 

"It  was  I  who  called  to  you,  not  this  gentleman," 


A  MAN  IN  A  GREEN  TURBAN  57 

said  Monny,  when  she  found  that  Green  Turban  did  not 
look  at  her.  "Do  you  speak  French  or  English  a  little?" 

"A  little  of  both.  But  I  choose  French  when  talking 
to  Americans,"  replied  Anthony  Fenton,  with  astounding 
impertinence,  in  the  preferred  language.  "I  do  not  know 
you,  Madame.  But  I  do  know  this  gentleman." 

Good  heavens!  What  next?  He  acknowledged  me! 
What  was  I  to  do  now?  What  did  the  impudent  fellow 
want  me  to  do?  Evidently  he  was  trying  an  experiment. 
Anthony  is  great  on  experiments,  and  always  has  been. 
But  this  was  a  bomb.  I  thought  he  wanted  to  see  if  I 
could  catch  it  on  the  fly,  and  drop  it  into  water  before  it 
had  time  to  explode. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  us,  Lord  Ernest?"  asked  Monny, 
with  a  flash  in  her  gray  eyes.  "I  thought  you  hadn't  been 
in  Egypt  since  you  were  a  child." 

"I  haven't,  and  I  didn't  recognize  him  at  first,"  I 
answered,  trying  for  the  coolness  which  Anthony  dared 
to  count  upon. 

"You  remember  me  now?"  he  inquired  politely. 

"I  —  er  —  yes,"  I  replied,  also  in  French.  "Your 
face  is  familiar,  though  you've  changed,  I  think,  since 
—  er  —  since  you  were  in  England.  It  must  have  been 
there  —  yes,  of  course.  You  were  on  a  diplomatic 
mission.  But  your  name " 

"You  may  have  known  me  as  Ahmed  Antoun,"  said 
the  wretch,  not  dreaming  of  that  slip  he  had  made. 

Cleopatra,  who  has  little  French,  nevertheless  started, 
and  fixed  upon  the  face  under  the  turban  a  stare  of 
feverish  interest.  Brigit  and  the  unobtrusive  lady  with 
the  slanting  eyes  both  showed  such  symptoms  of  surprise 


58  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

as  must  too  late  have  warned  Fenton  that  he  had  missed 
his  footing,  skating  on  thin  ice. 

"Antoun!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  East.  "Why,  that's  what 
you  said  you  called  your  friend  Captain  Fenton." 

I  glanced  at  Anthony.  His  profile  had  no  more  ex- 
pression than  that  of  an  Indian  on  an  American  penny, 
and,  indeed,  rather  resembled  it.  If  he  were  blaming 
me  for  letting  anything  out,  I  had  a  right  to  blame 
huii  for  letting  himself  in.  He  was  silent  as  well  as 
expressionless.  He  left  it  all  to  me  —  diplomat  or 
duffer. 

"'Antoun  Effendi'  was  the  nickname  my  friend 
Fenton  got  at  school,"  I  explained  to  Cleopatra,  "be- 
cause it  sounded  a  bit  like  his  own  name,  and  because 
he  had  —  er  —  because  he  had  associations  with  Egypt. 
He  was  proud  of  them  and  is  still.  But  Antoun  is  a 
name  often  heard  here.  And  every  man  who  isn't  a 
Bey  or  a  Prince,  or  a  Sheikh,  is  an  Effendi.  I  quite 
remember  you  now,"  I  hurried  on,  turning  to  Anthony 
once  more.  "You  are  Hadji  as  well  as  Effendi." 

"I  have  the  right  to  call  myself  so,  if  I  choose,"  he 
admitted.  "I  am  pleased  to  meet  you  again.  I  was 
waiting  for  a  friend  when  you  beckoned.  If  you  did  not 
recognize  my  face  at  first,  may  I  ask  what  it  was  you 
wanted  of  me?" 

There  was  no  limit,  then,  to  his  audacity.  He  had 
not  learned  his  lesson  yet,  after  all,  it  would  seem. 

Monny  could  not  bear  tamely  to  lose  her  hat,  though 
she  must  have  felt  her  hatpins  trembling  in  the  balance. 
"I  told  you  before,"  she  repeated,  "that  it  was  I  who 
beckoned  you." 


A  MAN  IN  A  GREEN  TURBAN  59 

He  looked  at  her,  without  speaking;  and  somehow  the 
green  turban  and  the  long  straight  gown,  by  adding  to  his 
dignity,  added  also  to  his  remote  air  of  cold  politeness. 
How  could  she  go  on?  Had  she  the  cheek  to  go  on? 
She  had  ;  but  the  cheek  was  flushed  with  embarrass- 
ment. 

"I  —  er  —  I  am  anxious  for  a  guide,  some  one  who 
knows  Egypt  well,  and  several  languages,"  she  desper- 
ately blurted  out,  looking  like  a  half-frightened,  half- 
defiant  child.  "  I  thought " 

"There  are  plenty  of  dragomans,  Madame,"  Green 
Turban  reminded  her.  "I  can  recommend  you  several." 

"I  don't  want  a  regular  dragoman,"  she  said.  "And 
I'm  not  'Madame.'  I  am  Miss  Gilder." 

"Indeed?"  Chilling  indifference  in  the  tone.  (Monny's 
hat  was  practically  mine.  I  thought  I  should  rather 
value  it.) 

"Yes.     But  of  course  that  can't  matter  to  you." 

"No.     It  cannot,  Mademoiselle." 

"What  I  want  to  say,  is  this.  You're  a  Hadji,  which 
means  you've  been  to  Mecca;  Lord  Ernest  Sorrow's  just 
told  us.  So  you  must  be  very  intelligent.  Are  you  in 
business?  " 

"I  am  interested  in  excavations." 

"Oh!     And  are  you  allowed  to  make  them  yourself?" 

"Not  always." 

I  glanced  at  him  quickly,  wondering  if  he  meant  that 
answer  more  for  me  than  for  the  girl.  But  his  face  told 
nothing. 

"  Would  you  be  able  to,  if  you  were  rich  enough?  " 

"It  is  possible." 


60  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"  Well,  I'd  be  willing  to  give  you  a  big  salary  for  showing 
us  about  Cairo,  and  perhaps  going  up  the  Nile." 

"You  do  not  know  who  I  am,  Mademoiselle.  Ask 
your  friend  Lord  Ernest  Borrow.  Perhaps  he  may 
remember  something  about  my  circumstances  now  he 
has  recalled  my  face." 

I  was  honestly  not  sure  whether  this  were  further 
deviltry,  or  an  appeal  for  help.  In  any  case,  I  thought  it 
time  for  the  scene  to  end.  "I  told  you,"  I  said  to  Monny 
in  English,  "that  he  was  a  man  of  importance,  not  at  all 
the  sort  of  person  you  could  expect  to  engage  for  a  guide. 
You  must  see  now  that  he's  a  gentleman.  And  a  —  a 
—  an  Egyptian  gentleman  is  just  the  same  as  any  other." 

"  Surely  not  quite!"  she  answered  in  the  same  language, 
and  I  realized  my  foolish  mistake  in  using  it,  as  if  I  meant 
her  to  understand  that  Antoun  Effendi  knew  it  too  little 
to  catch  our  secrets. 

"An  Egyptian  man  can't  have  the  same  feelings  as  a 
European?  Why,  for  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years 
they've  been  an  enslaved  race,  like  our  black  people 
at  home.  We'd  never  think  of  calling  even  the  fairest 
quadroon  man  a  gentleman,  though  he  might  be  won- 
derfully good  looking  and  nice  mannered." 

Literally,  I  was  frightened.  Anthony  Fenton  is 
fiercely  devoted  to  the  memory  of  the  beautiful  princess- 
mother,  for  love  of  whom  his  father's  career  was  ruined. 
Her  mother  was  a  Sicilian  woman,  and  her  father  was  half 
Greek,  so  there  is  little  enough  Egyptian  blood,  after  all, 
in  the  veins  of  General  Fenton's  son.  He  is  proud  of  what 
there  is  —  proud,  because  of  his  mother's  fatal  charm,  and 
the  romance  of  her  story  (it  was  on  the  eve  of  her  wedding 


A  MAN  IN  A  GREEN  TURBAN  61 

with  a  cousin  of  the  Sultan  that  the  famous  soldier  Charles 
Fenton  ran  away  with  Princess  Lalla  and  married  her  in 
Sicily):  but  he  is  sensitive,  too,  because,  great  name  as 
Charles  Fenton  had  made  in  Egypt,  he  was  asked  to 
resign  his  commission  on  account  of  the  escapade.  An- 
thony, sent  to  England  to  a  public  school,  had  fought  big- 
ger boys  than  himself,  who,  in  a  certain  tone,  had  sneeringly 
called  him  "Egyptian."  I  imagined  now  that  through 
the  dark  stain  on  his  face  I  could  see  him  turn  pale  with 
rage.  He  thought,  perhaps,  that  the  American  beauty 
was  revenging  herself  for  his  impertinence,  and  maybe 
he  was  right,  but  that  did  not  excuse  her. 

"Be  careful,  Miss  Gilder!"  I  warned  the  girl.  "This 
man  understands  English  better  than  you  think.  He 
comes  of  a  princely  family  and  he's  got  only  to  put  out 
his  hand  to  claim  a  fortune " 

"You  seem  to  remember  all  about  me  now,  Lord 
Ernest,"  broke  in  Fenton,  looking  dangerous. 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "It  comes  back  to  me.  You  must 
forgive  Miss  Gilder." 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  he  caught  me  up. 
"I  am  not  a  dragoman,  to  be  sure,  but  I'm  enough  of  an 
Egyptian  to  have  a  price  for  anything  I  do.  I  may  put 
myself  at  this  lady's  service  if  she  will  pay  my  price, 
though  I'm  not  a  servant  and  can't  accept  wages,  even 
for  the  sake  of  pursuing  my  excavations!" 

He  continued  to  speak  in  French,  lest  my  companions' 
suspicions  should  be  further  roused  by  the  English  of  an 
Englishman;  and  Monny,  pale  after  her  blush,  answered 
in  neat,  schoolgirl  French,  with  a  pretty  American 
accent. 


62  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"What's  the  price  you  wish  to  name?"  she  inquired, 
looking  a  little  afraid  of  him  and  ashamed  of  herself, 
now  that  talk  of  princes  and  fortunes  was  bandied  about. 
"Of  course,"  she  went  on,  when  he  did  not  answer  at 
once,  "if  I'd  known  —  all  this,  I  shouldn't  have  asked 
you  to  be  a  dragoman.  At  least,  perhaps  I  shouldn't. 
Anyhow,  I  shouldn't  have  made  a  bet " 

"A  bet  that  I  would  have  a  'price,'  Mademoiselle? 
Then  you  may  win  your  bet,  for  I've  just  told  you;  I  have 
a  price.  But  I  think  it  unlikely  you  would  be  willing  to 
pay  it." 

"Good  heavens,  is  he  going  to  try  and  marry  the 
girl?"  I  asked  myself.  It  would  be  the  last  thing  to 
expect  of  Anthony  Fenton.  However,  he  had  already 
done  the  last  but  one;  the  thing  I  had  bet  his  green  turban 
he  would  not  do.  After  all,  he  was  a  man,  and  a  reckless 
man,  as  he  had  proved  on  more  than  one  wild  occasion. 
He  was  in  a  strange  mood,  capable  of  anything;  and  the 
Gilded  Rose  could  never  have  been  prettier  in  her  life 
than  at  this  minute.  She  had  made  him  furious,  and  I 
had  imagined  that  his  acceptance  of  her  overtures  was 
the  beginning  of  some  scheme  of  punishment.  Now 
I  was  almost  sure  I  had  been  right,  yet  I  could  not  guess 
what  he  would  be  at.  Neither  could  Monny.  But  here 
was  the  dangerously  picturesque  Arab  who  "must  be  a 
prince  or  something,"  as  Cleopatra  had  expressed  it. 
And  he  was  even  more  dangerous  than  picturesque. 

"You  —  you  said  you  wouldn't  take  wages,"  she 
stammered  (I  enjoyed  hearing  the  self-willed  young 
person  stammer):  "so  I  can't  understand  what  you 
mean.  But  even  though  you  are  all  those  things  Lord 


A  MAN  IN  A  GREEN  TURBAN  63 

Ernest  says  you  are,  your  price  can't  be  so  terribly  high 
as  to  be  beyond  my  power  to  pay  —  if  I  choose  to  pay." 

"First,  Mademoiselle,  I  must  decide  whether  I  choose 
to  be  paid." 

"Oh!"  Monny  exclaimed,  taken  aback.  "I  thought  it 
was  a  question  of  price." 

"Not  only  that.  'I  may  put  myself  at  the  lady's  ser- 
vice —  for  a  price,'  was  what  I  said.  I  didn't  say, ' I  will.' 
I  shall  not  be  able  to  tell  you  until  to-night."  The  patron- 
izing tone  in  which  Anthony  spoke  this  sentence  was 
worth  to  me  everything  I  had  gone  through  in  the  last 
half  hour. 

"  But  —  I  want  to  settle  things  this  morning  or  —  not 
at  all,"  said  Monny,  reverting  to  type:  that  of  the  spoiled 
child. 

"I  am  sorry,"  replied  the  man  of  the  green  turban. 
"In  that  case,  it  must  be  not  at  all."  And  he  made  as 
if  to  go. 

The  Gilded  Girl  could  not  bear  this.  I  and  the 
others  would  see  that  she  was  fallible;  that  there  were 
things  she  wanted  which  she  could  not  get.  "Why 
can't  you  tell  me  now  what  your  price  is?  "  she  persisted. 

"Because,  Mademoiselle,  I  may  not  need  to  tell  you 
ever.  It  depends  partly  on  another  than  myself."  He 
threw  a  quick  glance  at  me.  "I  expect  to  meet  that 
other  at  Abdullahi's  Cafe  in  an  hour  from  now  at  latest. 
Everything  will  depend  on  the  interview.  In  any  case, 
I  will  let  you  know  to-night  what  I  can  do." 

"I  may  not  be  in,"  said  Monny.  "But  if  I'm  out, 
you  can  leave  a  note." 

"  If  I  must  refuse  to  serve  you,  yes,  I  can  leave  a  note. 


64  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

If  I  am  to  accept,  I  must  see  you  in  person.  Should 
you  be  out,  1 11  take  it  for  granted  that  you  have  changed 
your  mind  and  do  not  want"  —  he  smiled  faintly  for 
the  first  time  —  "so  expensive  a  guide." 

Monny  hesitated.  "I  am  not  stingy.  I'll  stay  at 
home  this  evening,"  she  volunteered  at  last. 

"Bravo  Petruchio!"  I  said  under  my  breath.  But 
if  Biddy's  plot  were  to  succeed,  it  was  my  business  to 
play  the  part  of  Petruchio  to  this  Katherine.  Let  the 
masquerading  prince  find  a  Desdemona  who  would  suit 
his  Othello! 


THE  CAFE  OF  ABDULLAHI 

"WELL  —  you  got  away  from  them  all  right?"  began  the 
man  with  the  green  turban  when,  according  to  his  round- 
about instructions,  I  met  him  an  hour  later  at  the  cafe 
he  had  named,  one  of  the  principal  resorts  of  Cairo, 
where  Europeans  can  consort  with  natives  without 
attracting  remark. 

"The  real  dragoman  came  and  took  them  off  my  hands 
—  at  least  the  realer  one  than  you  —  a  dreadful  creature 
with  a  game  eye,  who  murdered  your  messenger  last 
night,  and  gave  me  your  letter  and  induced  the  ladies 
to  engage  him  on  the  strength  of  it.  No  wonder  they 
want  a  'looker'  to  take  the  taste  of  him  out  of  their 
mouths.  And  you  certainly  are  a  'looker '  in  that  get-up. 
Now  kindly  tell  me  all  about  it,  and  everything  else." 

"That's  what  I'm  here  for,"  said  Anthony,  running  a 
match-box  to  earth  in  some  mysterious  Arab  pocket. 
"But  hold  on,  Duffer.  Something  you  said  just  then 
may  be  important.  Is  it  true  that  my  messenger  didn't 
give  you  the  letter?" 

"If  you'd  hung  about  Shepheard's  Hotel  ten  minutes 
longer,  you'd  have  seen  the  fellow  who  did  give  it.  Bedr 
el  Genaaly  he  calls  himself  —  Armenian  Mussulman,  a 
sickening  combination,  and  an  awful  brute  to  look  at  — 


66  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

said  your  messenger  was  taken  suddenly  ill;  pretends  to  be 
a  dragoman." 

"What  is  he  like?" 

"Rather  like  a  partially  decayed  but  decently  dressed 
goat." 

"Don't  rot.     This  may  be  serious." 

I  described  Bedr  el  Gemaly  as  best  I  could,  feature  by 
feature.  When  I  had  polished  them  off,  Anthony  shook 
his  green-turbaned  head.  "No  portrait  of  him  in  my 
rogues'  gallery.  Just  now,  I'm  sensitive  about  spies  — 
over-sensitive  rather.  Of  course,  you've  spotted  my 
game?" 

"I  confess  I  was  conceited  enough  to  think  you'd 
given  yourself  all  this  trouble  with  the  costumier  in  order 
to  take  a  rise  out  of  me.  But  when  you  speak  of  spies,  I 
begin  to  put  two  and  two  together  —  your  business  in 
Cairo  —  the  powers  that  be,  keeping  you  from  me  last 
night,  etc.  I  suppose  it's  an  official  job,  this  fancy  dress 
affair?" 

"Yes.  In  my  own  capacity,  I'm  not  in  Cairo.  I 
turned  up  day  before  yesterday,  jolly  glad  to  get  back 
from  Adrianople  —  though  it  was  good  fun  there,  I  can 
tell  you,  for  a  while;  and  I  looked  forward  to  wallowing 
no  end  in  the  alleged  delights  of  civilization.  I  reported 
myself,  and  all  seemed  well.  I  took  a  room  at  Shepheard's 
where  you  and  I  had  arranged  to  meet,  and  when  I'd 
scrubbed,  I  strolled  over  to  the  Turf  Club  to  see  what  the 
gay  world  would  have  to  say  to  a  fellow  in  disgrace." 

"Only  silly  asses  swallowed  that  newspaper  spoof! 
Every  one  in  London  who  knows  anything  about  you 
was  betting  his  boots  that  the  story  had  been  spread 


THE  CAFE  OF  ABDULLAHI  67 

on  purpose  to  save  our  face  with  Turkey."  I  couldn't 
resist  interrupting  his  narrative  to  this  extent.  But 
Anthony  merely  smiled,  and  watched  a  long-lived  smoke- 
ring  settle  like  a  halo  over  the  head  of  an  Arab  at  the 
nearest  table.  He  was  not  giving  away  official  secrets,, 
but  I  was  sure  and  always  had  been  sure  that  he  was  a 
martyr,  not  a  rebel,  in  the  matter  of  the  Balkan  incident, 
just  closed.  What  the  public  were  led  to  suppose  was 
this:  that  Captain  Fenton  had  asked  for  two  months' 
leave  from  regimental  duty  at  Khartum,  in  order  to 
spend  the  time  with  a  relative  who  was  seriously  ill  in 
Constantinople.  That  instead  of  remaining  at  his  rela- 
tive's bedside,  he  had  used  his  leave  for  a  dash  to  the 
Balkans.  That  this  indiscretion  might  have  been  kept 
a  secret  had  he  not  capped  it  with  another:  a  flight  with 
a  Greek  officer  in  an  army  aeroplane  which  had  ended  by 
crashing  down  in  the  midst  of  a  Turkish  encampment. 

What  I  and  friends  who  knew  him  best  supposed,  was 
that  the  "leave"  had  been  a  pretext  —  that  Fenton  had 
been  sent  on  a  secret  mission  of  some  sort  —  and  that 
he  was  bound  to  take  the  blame  if  anything  went  wrong. 
Aeroplanes  have  the  habits  of  other  fierce,  untamed 
animals:  they  won't  always  obey  their  trainers.  Thus 
Anthony  and  his  plan  had  both  been  upset.  (Or  had  it 
really  been  premeditated  that  he  should  fail  into  that 
camp?)  The  remainder  of  his  "leave"  was  cancelled,  in 
punishment,  and  he  had  been  "recalled"  to  Egypt,  to  be 
scolded  in  Cairo  before  proceeding  to  Khartum. 

"Queer  how  many  silly  asses  one  knows!"  Anthony 
said.  "Still,  considering  what  a  mess  I  seem  to  have 
made  of  things,  fellows  were  jolly  kind,  at  the  Turf  Club. 


68  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Nobody  cut  me,  and  only  a  few  let  me  alone.  Maybe 
there'd  have  been  still  fewer  if  there  hadn't  been  a  hero 
present  who  claimed  attention:  an  American  chap,  Jack 
Dennis,  who  knows  Miss  Gilder  and  was  telling  the  good 
news  that  she  was  on  her  way  to  Egypt.  He  called  her 
the  Gilded  Rose  and  said  it  was  going  to  be  a  good  flower 
season  in  Cairo  and  up  the  Nile.  All  the  men  with  one 
exception  seemed  to  have  heard  a  lot  about  her  and  to 
find  her  an  interesting  subject,  and  to  want  Dennis  to 
introduce  them." 

"I  can  guess  the  'one  exception'!"  said  I. 

"Can  you?  Well,  I  don't  read  newspaper  gossip 
about  heiresses.  Thank  heaven,  I've  something  better 
to  do  with  my  time.  But  the  others  wanted  to  meet  her, 
or  pretended  to,  perhaps  to  chaff  Dennis,  rather  a  cocky 
youth,  though  I  oughtn't  to  say  so,  as  he  was  nice  to  me, 
according  to  his  lights.  He  got  Sam  Blake  to  introduce 
us,  when  he  happened  to  hear  my  name,  and  went  out  of 
his  way  to  pay  me  compliments,  which  I  daresay  he 
thought  I'd  like.  When  there  was  a  lull  in  the  discussion 
of  what  could  be  done  to  make  Miss  Gilder  enjoy  herself 
in  Egypt  —  chaps  suggesting  trips  in  their  motor  cars 
or  on  their  camels  and  a  lot  of  rot,  Dennis  remarked  that 
I  was  the  only  man  who  hadn't  chipped  into  the  conversa- 
tion. And  hadn't  I  any  ideas  for  entertaining  the  Golden 
Girl?  Naturally  I  said  that  I  didn't  know  who  she  was 
and  had  never  heard  of  her,  and  even  if  I  had,  entertaining 
girls  wasn't  in  my  line.  They  all  roared,  and  Dennis 
wouldn't  believe  at  first  that  I  didn't  know  of  such  an 
important  person's  existence;  but  the  other  men  rotted 
a  bit,  and  described  me  to  him  according  to  their  notions 


THE  CAFE  OF  ABDULLAHI  69 

of  me.  So  he  let  me  alone  on  the  subject;  and  having 
plenty  of  other  things  to  think  of,  I  forgot  all  about  it 
till  the  lady  in  question  introduced  herself  this  morning. 
Then  —  well,  it  struck  me  as  rather  amusing  at  first  that 
I,  the  only  one  in  the  crowd  who  hadn't  made  plans 
to  get  at  her,  should  have  her  trying  to  get  at  me.  That 
was  partly  why  I  came  up  on  the  terrace  when  she 
beckoned." 

"Partly?  For  purely  intellectual  reasons  I'm  curious 
to  know  the  rest.  I  suppose  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  her 
looks?" 

"As  it  happened,  my  cynical  friend,  it  hadn't.  I've 
got  eyes  in  my  head  and  I  could  see  she  was  pretty,  very 
pretty,  though  not  my  ideal  type  at  all.  That  little 
sprite  of  a  woman  in  fawn  colour,  the  one  with  green 
eyes  and  a  lot  of  black  lashes,  is  more  what  I'd  fall  in 
love  with  if  I  were  frivolous.  But  apart  from  the  funny 
side  of  my  meeting  with  Miss  Golder,  or  Gilder,  it  popped 
into  my  head  that  I  might  make  her  a  victim  in  a  certain 
cause.  Don't  ask  me  to  explain  yet,  because  there  are  a 
lot  of  things  that  have  got  to  be  explained  first,  or  you 
couldn't  understand.  You  were  right,  of  course,  when 
you  thought  I'd  stationed  myself  in  front  of  Shepheard's 
to  take  a  rise  out  of  you.  I  gave  up  my  room  there 
yesterday,  for  reasons  I'll  tell  you.  But  I  knew  you'd 
be  in  the  hotel,  and  that  you'd  be  bound  to  show  yourself 
on  the  terrace,  in  order  to  go  out.  I  wanted  to  see  if 
you'd  recognize  me,  and  to  have  a  little  fun  with  you  if 
you  didn't.  By  the  way,  I'm  not  pleased  that  you 
did.  It's  a  poor  compliment  to  my  make-up,  which  I 
may  tell  you  has  been  warmly  praised  in  high  quarters!" 


70  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Well,  you  see,"  I  apologized,  "I  knew  you  were  a 
nailer  at  that  sort  of  thing,  or  you  would  never  have  got 
to  Mecca,  and  earned  your  green  turban.  I  knew  you'd 
been  pretty  often  called  upon  to  disguise  yourself  and  go 
about  among  the  natives  for  one  thing  or  another.  And 
besides,  we  were  chums  before  you  had  the  shadow  of  a 
moustache,  so  I  have  an  advantage  over  the  other  Sher- 
lock Holmeses !  But  even  as  it  was,  I  couldn't  be  sure  at 
first.  You  must  have  got  some  fun  out  of  my  expression." 

"I  did.  I  took  revenge  on  you  for  recognizing  me  by 
tormenting  you  as  far  as  I  dared.  Dear  old  boy,  I  knew 
you'd  see  me  through  to  the  end,  bitter  or  sweet!" 

"Which  was  it?"  I  inquired. 

"Mixed.  The  girl  riled  me,  rather,  so  much  so  that 
I  definitely  decided  it  would  be  fair  play  to  make  use  of 
her  as  a  cat's-paw.  But  it  depends  on  you,  whether  she's 
to  lose  or  win  her  bet." 

"  If  she  loses,  I  get  her  hat.  If  she  wins,  I've  engaged 
myself  to  procure  for  her  —  your  green  turban." 

"Did  you  think  you  could,  without  my  consent?" 

"No.  I  distinctly  thought  I  couldn't.  But  I  would 
have  been  willing  to  bet  the  head  in  the  turban,  served 
up  on  a  charger,  so  sure  I  was  that  you'd  refuse  to  come  near 
her.  I  thought  I  knew  you  au  fond,  you  see." 

"You  do.  I  haven't  changed.  But — circumstances 
have  changed.  And  that  brings  me  near  to  the  stage  of 
this  business  which  concerns  you  and  me.  First,  before 
I  go  further  though,  I'll  tell  you  a  part  of  the  reason  why 
I'm  sporting  the  green  turban.  There's  been  the  dickens 
to  pay  here,  about  a  new  street  that  had  to  be  made;  an 
immensely  important  and  necessary  street.  Well,  they 


THE  CAFE  OF  ABDULLAHI  71 

couldn't  make  it,  because  the  tomb  of  a  popular  saint  or 
sheikh  was  in  the  way.  To  move  the  body  or  even  disturb 
a  saint's  tomb  would  mean  no  end  of  a  row.  You  remember 
or  have  read  enough  about  Mohammedans  to  know  that. 
What  to  do,  was  the  question.  Nobody'd  been  able  to 
answer  it  till  yesterday,  when  the  sight  of  me  reminded 
them  of  a  trick  or  two  I'd  brought  off  some  time  ago,  by 
disguising  myself  and  hanging  about  the  cafes.  They 
wanted  me  to  try  it  again.  Consequently  Captain  A. 
Fenton  received  a  telegram  and  had  to  leave  Cairo  at  once 
on  business.  He  gave  up  his  room  at  Shepheard's,  and 
the  only  regrettable  thing  to  the  official  mind  is,  that  the 
fellow'd  been  seen  about  town  even  for  an  hour.  How- 
ever, it  couldn't  be  helped.  Luckily  Ahmed  Antoun  is  not 
unknown  in  Cairo  cafes.  He's  made  quite  an  impression 
upon  the  public  on  several  occasions  since  his  pilgrimage 
to  Mecca,  two  years  ago.  And  since  yesterday  afternoon 
he's  been  drinking  enough  coffee  to  give  him  jaundice, 
while  casually  spreading  the  story  of  a  dream  he  had.  Our 
friend  the  Hadji  related  how  he  had  slept  in  the  mosque  of 
Ibn  Tulun  after  the  noon  hour,  and  dreamed  of  the  sheikh 
whose  tomb  is  so  inconveniently  placed.  In  the  dream, 
the  saint  clamoured  to  have  his  tomb  moved  on  account  of 
a  bad  smell  of  drainage  which  he  considers  an  insult  to  his 
own  memory.  Also  dogs  have  taken  to  howling  round  his 
resting-place  at  night,  and  you  know  that  to  the  true 
believer  a  dog  is  an  unclean  animal.  Except  for  hunting 
purposes,  or  watch-dogging  in  various  branches,  good 
Mohammedans  class  dogs  and  Christians  together  in  their 
mind.  Well,  already  the  Hadji's  dream  is  working  like 
yeast.  The  news  of  it  is  being  carried  from  one  cafe  to 


72  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

another;  and  I  hope  that  a  few  more  nights'  work  will  do 
the  trick.  The  votaries  of  the  saint  will  get  up  a  petition 
to  have  his  body  moved.  When  it  has  found  another 
abode,  the  making  of  the  new  thoroughfare  will  be  sug- 
gested." 

"Very  neat!  I  see  it  all,,  except  the  connection  with 
Miss  Gilder.  What  has  your  saint  got  to  do  with  her?" 

"Very  little,  I  should  say,  by  the  look  in  her  eyes. 
But  though  a  green  turban's  as  good  as  an  heirloom,  and 
extorts  respect  wherever  it  goes,  even  a  Hadji  may  have 
jealous  detractors.  I  have  mine.  Another  green  turban 
in  this  town,  whose  genuineness  is  doubted  for  some  ob- 
scure reason  or  other,  has  sneered  at  my  dream." 

"I  say!  That  sounds  as  if  you  might  be  in  danger. 
If  one  man  suspects  you  to-day,  to-morrow " 

"Oh,  it's  only  the  dream  he  suspects  —  at  present. 
I  know  all  the  little  prayer  tricks  so  well,  and  I've  in- 
vented my  own  history  so  ingeniously,  with  a  patois 
to  match  my  province,  that  I  shall  get  through  this 
incident  as  I  have  through  others  of  the  sort.  There's 
only  one  hole  in  my  jebbah.  Last  night,  when  my  rival 
sprang  a  sudden  question  as  to  what  I  was  doing  in 
Cairo  (I'm  supposed  to  be  a  Luxor  man),  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment  I  replied  that  I  was  acting  as  dragoman  to  a 
rich  family  of  tourists.  On  that,  the  brute  inquired  with 
honeyed  accents  where  they  were  staying.  I  said  Shep- 
heard's,  because  I  expected  you  to  be  there,  and  thought 
if  I  were  followed,  you  might  be  useful  as  a  dummy." 

"Ah,  that's  where  Miss  Gilder  comes  in?  A  gilded 
gingerbread  lamb,  ready  for  the  sacrifice.  Why  didn't 
you  accept  her  offer  at  once,  as  she  seemed  so  providential?" 


THE  CAFE*  OF  ABDULLAHI  73 

"I'm  coming  to  that.  It  sounds  complicated,  but  it 
isn't.  For  one  thing,  though,  it  may  be  well  to  wait  and 
find  out  a  little  more  about  that  goat-eyed  Armenian 
of  yours." 

"He  isn't  mine.    He's " 

"I  want  to  know  for  certain  whose  he  is.  If  he  has 
anything  to  do  with  my  rival  Hadji,  there's  more  venom 
and  wit  inside  that  green  turban  than  I've  given  it 
credit  for.  Is  there  a  reason,  by  the  way,  except  their 
riches,  why  one  should  want  to  'get  at'  a  member  of 
the  American  party?" 

"  By  Jove ! "  said  I,  as  if  I  had  been  pinched  —  for  there 
was  a  sharp  nip  in  the  thought  Anthony's  question  jabbed 
into  my  mind.  I  had  disliked  and  distrusted  Bedr  el 
Gemaly,  but  I  had  associated  my  distaste  for  him  with 
Fenton's  affairs.  It  had  not  occurred  to  me  that  Biddy's 
fears  meant  more  than  a  nervous  woman's  vague  fore- 
bodings. During  the  few  hideous  years  of  hide-and-seek 
she  had  passed  in  trying  to  protect  the  traitor,  Richard 
O'Brien,  she  had  no  doubt  had  real  enough  reason  to 
dread  a  spy  in  every  stranger;  but  I  had  cheerfully  advised 
her  "not  to  be  morbid"  when  she  spoke  of  herself  as  a 
dangerous  companion,  or  stopped  me  with  a  gasp  in  the 
midst  of  what  seemed  an  innocent  question  about  her 
stepdaughter.  Could  it  be  possible  that  her  alarms 
might  after  all  be  justified,  and  that  the  powerful  associa- 
tion betrayed  by  O  'Brien  would  visit  his  sins  on  his  widow 
and  daughter?  That  American  accent  of  Gemaly 's! 
He  admitted  having  been  in  New  York.  Of  course,  he 
had  made  acquaintances  there.  My  thoughts  flashed 
back  to  the  meeting  at  the  railway  train.  Could  the 


74  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

fellow  have  found  out  in  advance  that  I  was  with  Mrs. 
O'Brien,  [alias  Jones]  and  her  friends?  It  seemed  as 
if  such  knowledge  could  have  reached  land  ahead  of  us 
only  by  miracle.  But  there  was  always  Marconi.  Per- 
haps news  of  Miss  Gilder  had  been  sent  by  wireless  to 
Alexandria,  with  our  humbler  names  starred  as  satellites 
of  that  bright  planet.  If  this  were  so,  Bedr,  instructed 
from  afar  to  watch  Richard  O'Brien's  widow,  might 
easily  have  been  clever  enough  to  suborn  a  messenger 
waiting  for  one  Ernest  Borrow. 

"What  are  you  mumbling  about?"  Anthony  wanted 
to  know,  when  I  forgot  to  answer.  "Have  I  put  some 
idea  that  you  don't  like  into  your  head?  " 

"I  was  turning  your  question  over  in  it,"  I  explained, 
"and  wondering  what  to  answer.  Of  course,  Miss 
Gilder's  rather  important,  and  I  believe  her  father's 
obsession  used  to  be  when  she  was  a  child,  that  she'd  be 
kidnapped  for  ransom.  The  'little  sprite  of  a  woman' 
you  admire  so  much,  knew  the  Gilders  in  those  days. 
She  says  that  the  unfortunate  baby  used  to  be  dragged 
about  in  a  kind  of  caged  perambulator,  and  that  some  of 
her  nurses  were  female  detectives  in  disguise,  with  re- 
volvers under  their  white  aprons.  No  wonder  the  girl 
revels  in  emancipation  and  travel!  I  should  think,  now 
she's  grown  up  to  twenty-one  years  and  five  foot  eight 
or  nine  of  height,  without  being  kidnapped,  there's 
not  much  danger  so  long  as  she  keeps  in  the  boundaries 
of  civilization.  Still,  one  never  knows,  in  such  a  queer 
world  as  ours,  where  newspapers  live  on  happenings 
we'd  laugh  to  scorn  if  they  came  out  of  novel  writers' 
brains." 


THE  CAFE  OF  ABDULLAHI  75 

"That's  the  only  incentive  you  can  suggest  for  spying, 
unconnected  with  my  affairs?" 

I  hesitated,  for  Biddy's  secret  was  not  my  secret,  and 
it  seemed  that  I  had  no  right  to  pass  it  on,  even  to  my 
best  friend.  I  must  ask  Biddy's  permission  before  telling 
Fenton  that  Mrs.  Jones  was  the  widow  of  the  informer 
Richard  O'Brien;  that  she  feared  over-subtlety  on  the  part 
of  the  enemy  might  confuse  her  girl  travelling  companion 
with  Esme  O'Brien,  hidden  in  a  convent  school  near 
Monaco.  "It's  just  credible  that  there  may  be  other 
incentives,"  I  said.  "But  I  must  confess,  I'd  rather  be- 
lieve that  Armenian  spies  were  on  the  track  of  Ahmed 
Antoun,  who  can  take  care  of  himself,  than  after  poor  Miss 
Gilder  or  —  any  of  her  party." 

"What's  the  name  of  the  laughing  sprite?"  suddenly 
asked  Fenton. 

"Mrs.  —  er  —  Jones.     Brigit  Jones." 

"Where's  her  husband?" 

"In  his  grave." 

"  Oh !  Well,  his  widow  looks  ready  to  bubble  over  with 
the  joy  of  life,  so  I  suppose  we  can't  associate  spies  or 
anything  shady  with  her?  That's  too  much  to  hope  for?  " 

"Why  to  'hope'  for?" 

"It  would  make  her  too  interesting." 

"Look  here,  my  dear  fellow,  you  can't  have  them 
both!" 

The  dark  eyes  of  Antoun  lit  with  a  spark  of  surprise 
and  laughter.  "I  don't  want  either,  thanks.  I  admire 
flowers,  but  I  never  gather  them.  I  leave  them  growing. 
However,  you  might  tell  me  which  one  you  want  for  your 
own  buttonhole?" 


76  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Really,  I  don't  know,"  I  mumbled,  taken  aback. 
"All  I  do  know  is,  it's  not  likely  I  can  get  either." 

Anthony  stared  at  me  with  a  curious  expression,  then 
abruptly  changed  the  subject.  "You've  heard  of  Sir 
Marcus  Lark?"  he  asked. 

"Of  course,"  said  I,  surprised  at  this  question  sand- 
wiched into  our  affairs.  Sir  Marcus  Lark  is  a  man  who 
has  had  his  finger  in  many  pies,  but  I  didn't  see  how  he 
could  poke  one  into  ours.  Everybody  knows  Sir  M.  A. 
Lark,  given  a  baronetcy  by  the  Radicals  some  years  ago 
in  return  for  services  to  the  party  —  starting  and  running 
a  newspaper  which  must  have  cost  him  fifty  thousand 
pounds  before  it  began  to  pay.  He  has  financed  theatres, 
and  vegetarian  restaurants;  he  owns  cocoa  plantations  and 
factories,  and  a  garden  city;  he  has  a  racing  yacht  which 
once  beat  the  German  Emperor's;  he  owns  two  hotels; 
he  has  written  a  book  of  travel;  his  name  as  a  director  is 
sought  by  financial  companies;  he  has  lent  money  to  a 
distressed  South  American  government  in  the  making; 
and  though  the  success  of  his  enterprises  has  sometimes 
hung  in  the  balance  for  months  or  years,  his  wonderful 
luck  seems  invariably  to  triumph  in  the  end;  so  much  so, 
that  "Lark's  Luck"  has  become  a  well-known  heading 
for  newspaper  columns,  in  the  middle  of  which  his  photo- 
graph is  inset.  At  the  mention  of  his  name,  the  oft- 
seen  picture  rose  before  my  eyes  —  a  big  man,  anywhere 
between  thirty-six  and  fifty  —  good  head,  large  forehead, 
curly  hair,  kind  eyes,  pugnacious  nose,  conceited  smile 
under  waxed  moustache,  heavy  jaw,  unconquerable  chin, 
and  prize-fighter's  neck  and  shoulders.  "What  has  Sir 
Marcus  Lark  to  do  with  us?  " 


THE  CAFE  OF  ABDULLAHI  77 

"He's  in  Egypt  —  in  Cairo  just  now;  and  —  he's  got 
our  mountain." 

"Good  heavens!"  I  stared  blankly  at  Anthony,  seeing 
not  his  dark  face  under  the  green  turban,  but  that  ever- 
lasting, ever-smiling  newspaper  block  portrait.  Down 
toppled  our  castle  in  the  air,  Anthony's  and  mine  — 
the  shining  castle  which  had  been  the  lodestone  of  my 
journey  to  Egypt,  the  secret  hope  and  romance  of  our  two 
lives,  for  all  those  months  since  Anthony  first  read  the 
Ferlini  papers  and  began  negotiations  with  the  Egyptian 
Government. 

"It's  all  up  then,"  I  said,  when  I  felt  that  I  could  speak 
without  betraying  palsy  of  the  jaw.  "We're  done!" 

"I'm  not  sure  of  that,"  Fenton  answered.  "If  I 
had  been,  I  shouldn't  have  broken  the  news  so  brutally. 
It's  on  the  cards  that  we  may  be  able  to  bring  the  thing 
off  yet." 

"But  how,  if  that  bounder  has  got  the  place  for  him- 
self ?  He  must  have  found  out  the  truth  about  it  somehow, 
or  he  wouldn't  have  bothered.  And  if  he  knows  what 
we  know  —  or  think  we  know  —  he  certainly  won't  give 
up  to  us  what  he's  grabbed  for  himself.  A  beastly  shame 
we  should  have  been  let  in  like  this,  after  being  given  to 
understand  that  it  would  be  all  right." 

"Lark  must  have  had  a  pull  of  some  sort,  I  haven't 
learned  what;  but  I  will.  The  one  hope  is,  that  he  hasn't 
stumbled  onto  the  secret." 

"  What !  You  think  he  hit  on  our  pitch  by  a  mere  coin- 
cidence —  an  accident?  " 

"No.  There's  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  that  he  had  a 
special  motive  for  wanting  our  mountain  and  no  other." 


78  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Have  you  formed  an  idea  what  the  motive  is,  if 
not  the  same  as  ours?" 

"I've  heard  his  version  from  his  own  lips.  It's  rather 
astounding.  And  I  want  you  to  hear  it  from  him,  too." 

"You've  met  him!" 

"Yesterday  at  Shepheard's,  before  I  went  in  for  this 
dressing-up  business.  Lark  heard  I  had  wired  for  a  room 
at  the  hotel,  and  was  lying  hi  wait  for  me  on  the  terrace 
when  I  got  back  from  the  Agency.  We  had  a  talk.  I'd 
heard  just  before,  the  news  about  the  mountain.  But 
he  explained.  Now  he  wants  to  see  you.  He's  got  some- 
thing special  to  say,  and  I've  made  an  appointment  for 
you  with  him  at  two  o'clock." 


VI 

THE  GREAT  SIR  MARCUS 

THE  appointment  was  at  the  Semiramis  Hotel,  where 
Sir  Marcus  Lark  was  staying.  I  went  with  my  mind  an 
aching  void,  and  my  heart  a  cold  boiled  potato.  I  can 
think  of  nothing  more  disagreeable !  For  not  a  word  more 
would  Fenton  let  drop  as  to  the  great  man's  business  with 
us  or  the  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid. 

I  sent  up  my  card,  and  a  few  minutes  later  was  shown 
into  a  private  salon  more  appropriate  to  a  beautiful 
young  duchess  than  to  a  middle-aged,  bumptious  finan- 
cier. It  was  pale  green  and  white,  full  of  lilies  and 
fragrance,  and  an  immense  French  window  opened  out 
upon  a  roofed  loggia  overlooking  the  Nile.  This  would 
have  been  the  ideal  environment  for  our  Gilded  Rose; 
and  I  felt  more  venomous  than  before,  if  possible,  toward 
the  rich  bounder  who  posed  against  such  an  unsuitable 
background.  I  thought,  as  the  door  of  the  salon  was 
opened  for  me  by  the  smart  Arab  servant,  that  the  room 
was  untenanted,  and  that  Sir  Marcus  Lark  meant  to  keep 
me  waiting;  but  there  he  was,  on  the  balcony,  gazing  in 
rapture  at  the  shining  river.  As  if  he  were  capable  of 
raptures,  he,  an  earth-bound  worm!  But  there  was  no 
mistaking  that  back,  those  shoulders,  or  the  face,  as  the 
big  body  turned. 

79 


80  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

He  advanced  through  the  open  window,  holding  out 
a  hand  as  big  as  a  steak.  He  was  exactly  like  his 
photograph,  except  that  there  was  even  more  of  him 
than  I  had  been  led  to  expect.  The  pretty  room  was 
net  small,  but  entering,  he  seemed  to  turn  it  into  a 
doll's  house  parlour.  "Six  foot  two,  if  he's  an  inch!"  I 
said  to  myself,  longing  to  play  David  to  his  Goliath. 
"Big,  rich,  common  brute!"  I  thought.  "You  snatch 
OUT  mountain  out  of  our  mouths,  and  then  you  send  for 
us  as  if  we  were  servants  —  men  whose  boots  you  ought 
to  be  blacking!"  I  was  vindictive.  I  stared  him  straight 
between  the  eyes  —  where  a  stone  from  David's  sling 
would  have  fitted  in  neatly. 

The  eyes  were  wide  apart,  and  kinder  than  in  the 
photographs.  They  were  even  curiously  innocent,  and 
boyish.  His  grin  of  greeting  made  the  large,  waxed 
black  moustache  point  joyously  up.  He  showed  teeth 
white  as  a  child's,  and  had  dimples  —  actually  dimples 
—  in  his  big  cheeks,  to  say  nothing  of  the  one  in  his  chin, 
with  which  snapshots  had  familiarized  me.  He  looked 
like  a  huge,  overgrown  schoolboy  with  a  corked  moustache. 
My  glare  faded  in  the  light  of  his  smile.  No  man  with  a 
gleam  of  humour  could  have  kept  a  mask  of  grimness. 
I  found  my  hand  enveloped  in  the  pound  of  steak,  and 
warmly  shaken  up  and  down  inside  it. 

"  Lord  Ernest  Borrow,  I'm  delighted  to  see  you.  Very 
good  of  you  to  come,  I'm  sure!"  to  David  quoth  Goliath, 
in  a  big  voice,  mellow  despite  a  slight  Cockney  accent. 
"Nice  view  I've  treated  myself  to  here,  what?  I'm 
in  Egypt  on  business,  but  I  like  to  have  pretty  things 
around  me  —  pleasant  colours  and  flowers  and  a  view. 


THE  GREAT  SIR  MARCUS  81 

That's  a  specialty  of  mine.  I'm  great  on  specializing. 
And  that  brings  me  to  what  we  have  in  common;  a 
scheme  of  yours;  a  scheme  of  mine." 

I  wanted  to  detest  the  man,  but  somehow  couldn't. 
To  hate  him  would  be  hating  an  overpowering  force, 
like  heat,  or  electricity. 

With  an  old-fashioned  politeness  he  made  me  sit  down, 
picking  out  my  chair,  the  most  comfortable  in  the  room, 
then  taking  the  next  best  for  himself.  He  fitted  into  it  as 
tightly  as  a  ripe  plum  into  its  skin,  and  talked  with  one  leg 
crossed  over  the  other  and  swinging,  the  points  of  his 
brown  fingers  joined.  I  was  glad  they  were  brown. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  sore  with  me,"  he  began,  having 
ordered  coffee  and  liqueurs,  and  forced  upon  his  guest  a 
cigar  as  big  as  a  sausage.  "  I've  got  what  you  and  your 
friend  wanted;  and  I'm  going  to  be  frank  with  you  as  I've 
been  with  him,  and  admit  that  I  got  it  because  you  did 
want  it.  Simply  and  solely  for  that  reason  and  nothing 
else.  He  told  you  this?" 

"He  left  the  telling  to  you,"  I  said,  wondering  why  I 
wasn't  more  furious  than  curious.  But  it  was  the  other 
way  round. 

"Good  egg!  He  promised  he  would,  and  he  looks  the 
sort  of  chap  to  keep  his  promise.  Well,  I  see  you  want 
me  to  get  down  to  business,  and  I  will.  I'm  going  to  lay 
all  my  cards  on  the  table.  I  came  here  to  Egypt  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life,  to  see  a  scheme  through,  and  I 
landed  on  the  scene  in  time  to  find  that  I  was  likely  to 
fail.  I  haven't  told  any  one  else  that,  but  your  friend 
Fenton;  for  I  never  have  made  a  business  failure  yet,  and 
I  don't  mean  to  now  if  I  can  help  it.  The  scheme  had  to 


82  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

be  saved  in  a  hurry  if  it  could  be  saved  at  all;  and  when  I 
set  my  wits  to  work  I  saw  that  I  must  get  hold  of  some  such 
young  men  as  you  and  Captain  Fenton  to  help  me.  I 
don't  know  how  the  thought  of  you  two  popped  into  my 
head,  but  I  suppose  it  was  seeing  a  lot  of  stuff  about 
Fenton  in  the  papers,  his  Balkan  adventure,  and  the 
announcement  that  he'd  been  recalled  to  his  regiment. 
There  were  paragraphs  about  him  as  a  linguist,  and  an 
Egyptologist,  and  anecdotes  of  him  as  a  smart  soldier. 
You  know  the  sort  of  thing.  And  the  stories  about  his 
parentage  caught  my  fancy  a  bit.  They're  romantic. 
I've  got  enough  romance  in  me  to  see  that  side  of  life, 
and  to  know  how  it  goes  down  with  the  women.  This 
scheme  of  mine  depends  on  women.  Most  schemes  do. 
At  the  same  time  the  Egyptian  papers  were  printing 
paragraphs  about  Lord  Ernest  Borrow.  I  don't  know 
whether  you're  aware  of  that  or  not?  No?  Would  you 
like  to  see  'em?  I've  had  my  secretary  cut  'em  out  — 
and  the  Fenton  stuff,  too.  The  minute  this  idea  began 
to  wiggle  in  my  mind  like  a  tadpole  in  water,  I  kept 
everything." 

"Don't  trouble  about  the  paragraphs,  thanks,"  I  said. 

"All  right.  It  will  save  our  time  not  to.  But  your 
wish  to  go  in  with  your  friend,  for  the  rights  of  excavating 
in  the  Sudan,  was  mentioned,  and  the  delay  on  account 
of  alleged  interference  with  Garsting's  pitch." 

"By  Jove,  I  wonder  how  the  reporters  got  onto  that?" 
I  couldn't  help  exclaiming. 

"It's  their  livelihood  to  get  onto  everything.  'Well 
then,'  I  said  to  myself,  'Here's  my  chance,  my  only  one. 
I  want  those  two  young  men.  They're  the  right  combi- 


THE  GREAT  SIR  MARCUS  83 

nation  for  me,  to  give  real  distinction  to  my  undertaking. 
I  have  money,  but  they  ain't  the  sort  you  can  buy  with 
money.  There  must  be  an  incentive.  If  I  get  what  they 
want,  perhaps  I  can  get  them.'  So  I  went  into  the  job 
tooth  and  nail.  Neither  you  nor  Fenton  was  on  the  spot. 
I  was  —  very  much  on  it.  Nothing  was  definitely  fixed 
up  between  the  Government  and  Fenton  for  the  right  to 
excavate  at  the  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid,  as  they 
call  the  little  old  molehill,  and  I  scored.  Now,  if  you  two 
will  do  what  I  want,  you  can  have  your  mountain,  and 
whatever  you  find  you  can  keep.  You're  worth  more  to 
me  than  any  beads  and  broken-nosed  statues  under  the 
sand  of  Egypt.  I  think  I've  made  some  impression  on 
your  friend.  He  may  be  inclined  to  go  in  with  me,  if  you 
will.  He's  explained  that  in  any  case  he  can't  use  his  own 
name,  on  account  of  his  position  in  the  army  and  so  on. 
That's  a  disappointment  to  me,  but  I'll  put  up  with  it  for 
the  sake  of  his  accomplishments  and  his  looks.  Your  name 
alone  will  carry  the  necessary  weight  as  a  leader." 

"You're  very  flattering,"  said  I.  "But  I'm  in  the 
dark." 

"I'm  going  to  put  you  wise,  as  Americans  say.  My 
scheme  was  —  and  is  —  to  be  a  rival  de  luxe  of  Cook  on  the 
Nile.  Not  only  that,  but  all  over  the  near  East.  You've 
heard,  of  course,  about  my  buying  the  Marquis  of  Red- 
ruth's  yacht  Candace,  on  his  bankruptcy  —  the  second 
biggest,  and  the  most  up-to-date  yacht  in  the  world  — 
and  turning  her  into  a  pleasure  cruiser  for  the  Mediter- 
ranean?" 

"If  I've  heard,  I'm  afraid  my  memory's  treacherous," 
said  I,  glad  to  show  how  unimportant  to  me  were  the 


84  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

schemes  of  financiers,  but  interested  in  the  yacht's 
name,  which  carried  my  thoughts  away  to  Meroe. 

"  Great  Scout !  And  I've  spent  two  thousand  in  adver- 
tising !  I've  taken  whole  pages  of  London  and  Continental 
papers!" 

"I  never  read  advertisements  if  I  can  help  it,  except 
of  new  patents  in  razors.  They're  a  fad  of  mine." 

"Thank  goodness  you've  got  fads.  Then  we've  some- 
thing in  common.  I  make  money  out  of  my  fads.  I  call 
'em  inspirations.  I  thought  the  Candace  business  was 
one  of  my  inspirations,  and  that  I'd  have  some  fun  out  of 
it.  I  advertised  her  to  start  on  her  first  pleasure  cruise 
from  Marseilles  to  Gib,  Algiers,  Tangier,  Tunis,  Greece, 
Alexandria,  and  Jaffa.  'That'll  be  a  smack  in  the  eye  for 
the  big  liners,'  I  said  to  myself.  'I'll  skim  the  top  layer 
of  clotted  cream  off  their  passenger  lists ! '  I  was  going  to 
do  the  thing  de  luxe  straight  through  —  bid  for  the  swell 
set,  exclusiveness  my  motto.  Of  course  I  didn't  expect  to 
hit  the  dukes  and  dollar  kings  first  shot,  but  I  thought  if 
everything  went  right  the  passengers  would  tell  their 
friends  at  home  how  much  better  we  did  them  on  board 
than  any  one  else  had  ever  done,  and  we'd  get  a  'snowball ' 
ad,  that  nothing  could  stop.  All  would  have  worked  out 
first  rate,  if  I  hadn't  made  one  mistake.  I  engaged  a 
retired  army  colonel  for  a  conductor  on  board  my  yacht. 
I  got  the  man  cheap.  But  I  was  a  fool  to  economize 
on  him.  I  ought  to  have  launched  out  on  a  belted  earl. 
Folks,  especially  Americans,  don't  like  retired  colonels. 
The  woods  are  full  of  'em  over  there,  crawling  with  'em. 
Most  Americans  are  colonels  and  not  retired.  Besides, 
this  chap  of  mine's  no  good  anyhow  —  fancies  himself 


THE  GREAT  SIR  MARCUS  85 

as  a  politician,  and  is  a  first-class  snob;  has  no  tact; 
rubs  up  the  passengers  the  wrong  way,  and  outrages  their 
feelings.  We  got  a  lot  of  people  from  the  north  of  England, 
rich  and  a  bit  crude,  like  me.  Will  you  believe  it,  Colonel 
Corkran  began  his  job  by  sneering  audibly  at  'provincials' 
to  some  beastly  friend  of  his,  come  to  see  him  off  at 
Marseilles?  Instead  of  making  his  dinner-table  lectures 
a  kind  of  travellogue  as  he  was  hired  to  do,  he  turns  'em 
into  political  tirades,  and  calls  the  Liberals  scoundrels, 
half  of  our  folks  being  red-hot  Rads.  Not  only  that,  if 
the  girls  and  boys  talk  while  the  band's  playin'  any  of  his 
favourite  airs,  he  hisses  out  '  Silence,'  through  a  hole  in 
his  mouth  where  one  tooth's  missin'.  That  tooth  bein' 
gone,  has  got  on  the  girls'  nerves  worse  than  anything 
else,  it  would  seem,  except  his  being  down  on  Suffragettes. 
And  the  crisis  was  reached  when  he  insulted  Miss  Hassett 
Bean,  the  richest  and  most  important  woman  in  the  bunch, 
when  she  expressed  her  political  opinions.  Said  to  her, 
'My  dear  lady,  why  do  you  bother  to  have  opinions? 
They  give  you  a  lot  of  trouble  to  collect,  and  nobody  else 
will  trouble  to  listen.  Why  not  collect  insects  or  stamps 
instead?'  Of  course  she  did  think  Germany  had  already 
invaded  England  with  a  large  army  of  soldiers  disguised 
as  hotel  waiters,  which  was  calculated  to  rile  an  old  officer; 
but  that's  no  excuse  for  a  man  who's  paid  to  please. 
And  now  the  fellow's  wondering  why  he's  not  popular 
with  the  passengers ! " 

I  laughed,  but  Sir  Walter  had  worked  himself  into  a 
state  past  smiling  point.  "It's  no  laughing  matter," 
he  said,  "This  snob  Corkran's  killing  my  scheme.  There's 
a  plot  on  foot  for  the  party  to  walk  off  the  yacht  at 


86  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Alexandria,  and  demand  half  their  passage  money.  Some 
old  grampus  on  board  has  started  the  story  that  theCandace 
has  been  down  three  times " 

"A  lie,  of  course,"  I  soothed  him. 

"A  dastardly  lie.  She's  been  down  only  twice.  The 
first  time  was  a  collision,  the  second  a  coincidence." 

"But  I  thought  she  was  the  most  up-to-date  yacht  in 
the  world!" 

"So  she  is,  as  the  Candace.  That  was  the  Marquis's 
name  for  her:  gave  it  after  a  trip  to  Egypt.  He  bought 
her  second  hand,  and  rechristened  her  while  she  was  being 
redecorated.  He  spared  no  expense,  which  he  could  well 
afford,  seeing  that  he  never  paid  a  penny.  I  got  her  at 
cost  price,  as  you  may  say.  But  these  plotters  are  going 
to  claim  that  they  were  inveigled  on  board  under  false 
pretences,  by  my  advertising  the  Candace  as  the  newest 
thing  in  yachts.  I've  had  a  letter  and  several  cypher 
telegrams  from  the  assistant  conductor,  a  useful  chap, 
telling  me  the  whole  story  of  the  plot,  which  he's  nosed 
out;  and  I'm  faced  with  humiliating  failure  unless  I 
can  save  the  situation  by  a  grand  coup  at  the  eleventh 
hour.  Now,  you  can  guess  why  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
I  bought  up  your  rights  to  dig  in  the  Sudan,  can't  you?" 

"I  confess  I  can't,"  I  said. 

"Why,  I  want  you  to  take  Colonel  Corkran's  place 
on  the  Candace  as  conductor.  And  I  want  you  and  your 
friend  Fenton  to  go  up  Nile  in  charge  of  the  splendid  steam 
dahabeah  I've  bought  to  supplement  the  Mediterranean 
trip.  There  you  have  my  motives  in  a  nutshell!" 

I  burst  out  laughing.  "A  cracked  nutshell,"  I  re- 
marked. 


THE  GREAT  SIR  MARCUS  87 

Sir  Marcus'  rosy  face  turned  royal  purple.  "  What  — 
you  won't  undertake  it?  " 

"I  couldn't,"  I  assured  him.  "For  one  thing,  I'd  be 
a  fish  out  of  water.  My  dear  sir,  perhaps  you  don't 
know  that  my  nickname  since  the  age  of  five  has  been 
'Duffer?'  I'm  proud  of  it.  I  take  pains  to  live  up  to 
it " 

"I  bet  you  do.  I  bet  it  opens  doors  and  lays  down 
velvet  carpets  for  you.  Why,  a  duffer  with  a  title  is 
exactly  what  I  want!  Duffers  are  the  rage  nowadays. 
You  and  your  friend  will  make  a  brilliant  pair,  a  fine 
contrast,  especially  with  your  friend's  present  get  up.  If 
you'd  both  been  born  for  me  you  couldn't  suit  me  better." 

I  laughed  again.  "  You  said  you  ought  to  have  launched 
out  on  belted  earls.  We're  humble " 

"There's  no  earls  handy,  and  if  there  were  any,  they 
wouldn't  be  what  you  two  are  in  looks  and  talents,  to 
say  nothing  of  your  brother  being  a  marquis.  I'm  of- 
fering you  both  the  softest  kind  of  job.  All  you  have  to 
do  is  to  be  agreeable  young  gentlemen,  with  a  knowledge 
of  society,  and  history;  that  means,  you  can  be  yourselves. 
You  get  a  fine  trip  on  high  salaries  if  you  don't  scorn  to 
accept  my  money;  and  as  a  reward  for  a  good  holiday 
you  receive  the  right  to  explore  your  golden  mountain. 
I  suppose  you  must  think  it  is  a  golden  mountain,  or  you 
wouldn't  be  such  nuts  on  it.  You'd  better  consult  your 
friend  before  you  refuse  my  offer,  anyhow." 

"Haven't  you  heard  that  Fenton's  left  Cairo?"  I  took 
the  precaution  to  ask.  "That  doesn't  look  as  if  he  were 
entertaining  the  idea  of  going  up  the  Nile  on  your  steam 
dahabeah." 


88  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"I  have  heard  that  he's  left.  But  I  happen  to  know 
it  isn't  so.  I  saw  him  standing  in  front  of  Shepheard's 
Hotel  this  morning,  waiting  for  you.  I  got  on  to  what 
was  in  that  green  turban  before  the  pretty  girl  in  white 
—  Miss  Gilder,  I've  found  out  since  —  called  him  on  to 
the  terrace.  Don't  look  as  if  you  wanted  to  eat  me,  Lord 
Ernest.  I've  won  my  way  up  from  the  bottom  rung  of 
the  ladder  by  keeping  my  eyes  open,  and  by  putting  two 
and  two  together.  I  specialize  on  that.  I  don't  sup- 
pose there's  another  man  in  Cairo  except  me  and  you, 
would  have  recognized  Fenton,  so  you  needn't  worry. 
I  twigged  that  he'd  dressed  up  for  serious  business,  not 
for  fun,  because  I  read  about  some  smart  coups  he'd 
brought  off  by  going  among  the  natives  like  one  of  them- 
selves. I'm  not  a  sneak,  and  I  shan't  revenge  myself  by 
giving  him  away,  even  if  you  two  do  show  me  the  frozen 
face.  Captain  Fenton  encouraged  me  to  think  he  might 
consider  my  proposition  if  you  would,  though  he  refused  to 
influence  your  decision  one  way  or  the  other.  Naturally  I 
conclude  that  he  could  be  on  my  Nile  boat  if  he  wanted  to, 
even  if  not  in  his  own  capacity  as  an  officer.  I'll  take  him  in 
his  green  turban.  He  makes  the  best  looking  Egyptian  I 
ever  saw,  and  he'd  go  down  with  the  ladies  like  hot  cakes." 

"Sir  Marcus,"  I  smiled,  "you're  one  of  the  most 
amusing  as  well  as  the  sharpest  men,  if  you'll  allow  me  to 
say  so,  that  I  ever  met.  Whatever  happens  I  shall  not 
forget  this  conversation." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  forget  it,"  he  grinned,  beginning  to 
hope.  "Think  it  over.  We're  the  chance  of  a  lifetime 
for  each  other.  And  remember  the  Mountain  of  the 
Golden  Pyramid." 


THE  GREAT  SIR  MARCUS  89 

I  rose,  and  he  got  up  heavily.  "When  will  you  let 
me  know?  "  he  asked. 

I  was  tempted  to  reply  that  he  must  have  taken  Fen- 
ton's  seeming  encouragement  too  seriously,  that,  mountain 
or  no  mountain,  it  was  practically  impossible  for  us  to 
accept  his  amazing  proposition.  But  suddenly  I  seemed 
to  hear  "Antoun  Effendi "  telling  Miss  Gilder  that  she 
must  wait  for  his  decision  until  evening.  He  had  said 
afterward,  also,  that  it  depended  on  me.  It  was  evident 
that  he  had  a  scheme  of  his  own,  worked  by  wheels  within 
wheels.  He  had  consoled  me  after  the  first  blow  by  say- 
ing that  all  was  not  lost.  And  I  had  four  months'  leave 
from  duty.  A  lot  could  be  done  in  four  months.  "I 
will  let  you  know  before  night,"  I  said  to  Sir  Marcus 
Lark. 


vn 

THE  REVELATIONS  OF  A  RETIRED  COLONEL 

FENTON'S  orders  were,  when  the  Cairo  business  should 
be  finished,  to  go  slowly  up  the  Nile  in  native  dress,  and 
get  at  the  truth  of  certain  rumours  which  had  disturbed 
officialdom  at  Cairo.  At  Denderah,  Luxor,  and  two  or 
three  other  places  there  had  been  "incidents,"  small  but 
troublesome.  English  sightseers  had  complained  of  being 
hustled,  and  even  insulted  by  the  inhabitants  of  several 
river  towns,  and  it  was  important  to  find  out  whether 
the  Egyptians  or  the  foreigners  had  been  more  to  blame; 
whether  there  were  real  symptoms  of  sedition,  as  re- 
ported, or  whether  the  young  men  of  the  suspected  places 
had  merely  resented  with  roughness  some  discourtesy 
of  tactless  tourists.  Fenton  had  seized  upon  the  idea 
that,  as  Egyptian  lecturer  and  conductor  —  a  sort  of 
super-dragoman  —  on  board  Lark's  Nile  boat,  he  might 
find  a  plausible  pretext  for  his  secret  errand.  "Why 
do  you  travel?"  would  be  the  question  he  must  expect 
from  suspicious  leaders  of  any  plot  that  might  be  hatching, 
if  he  journeyed  from  one  Nile  village  to  another  without 
the  excuse  of  business.  As  a  glorified  conductor  of  a 
pleasure-trip  for  a  party  of  tourists  his  excuse  would  be 
ready  made  for  him;  but  he  had  been  far  from  sure  that  I 
would  fall  in  with  Sir  Marcus  Lark's  plan,  despite  the 

90 


REVELATIONS  OF  A  COLONEL  91 

bribe.  He  had  wanted  me  to  hear  the  whole  story,  the 
whole  project,  from  Sir  Marcus'  own  lips;  and  in  his  un- 
certainty of  the  result,  he  had  thought  of  Miss  Gilder  as 
an  attractive  "victim."  There  she  was,  as  he  had  said, 
presented  to  him  by  Providence.  If  I  should  pour  scorn 
upon  the  Lark  suggestion,  he  might  find  it  worth  while 
to  guide  the  Gilded  Girl  and  her  friends  on  then:  Nile 
pilgrimage.  He  left  the  question  for  me,  and  I  decided 
to  kill  as  many  birds  as  possible  with  one  stone.  The 
name  of  the  yacht  was  in  itself  an  incentive:  Candace  — 
Queen  of  Meroe  —  our  Merb'e.  She  seemed  to  call,  and 
to  promise  good  luck.  We  would  accept  Lark's  terms, 
and  enter  his  service  in  return  for  a  written  agree- 
ment to  hand  over  his  ill-got  digging  rights  to  us,  whether 
or  no  we  turned  out  to  be  satisfactory  as  guides.  We 
could  but  do  our  best,  and  at  all  events  we  should  earn 
the  reward  which  we  had  looked  upon  as  ours  already. 
Anthony  would  play  his  double  part,  serving  the  interests 
of  government  and  those  of  Sir  Marcus  Lark.  As  for 
Monny  Gilder,  why  shouldn't  she  and  her  party  become 
Lark's  passengers?  The  only  reason  against  this  "in- 
spiration" (as  Sir  Marcus  would  have  called  it),  lay  in 
the  fact  that  Monny  wished  to  engage  a  private  dahabeah. 
When  she  wished  for  a  thing,  it  appeared  that  only  a 
miracle  or  a  cataclysm  could  induce  her  to  give  it  up  for 
something  else  suggested  by  an  outsider.  But  when  I 
mentioned  this  peculiarity  to  Fenton,  he  was  fired  to  pun- 
ish the  girl  by  forcing  her  compliance  with  our  will.  She 
had  treated  him  like  a  servant.  She  looked  upon  a  man 
supposedly  of  Egyptian  blood,  even  though  of  princely 
birth,  somewhat  as  she  looked  upon  an  American  "nig- 


92  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

ger."  True,  Anthony  Fenton  had  in  his  veins  but  very 
few  such  drops.  On  his  father's  side  he  was  all  Eng- 
lish, and  his  mother  had  been  more  than  two  thirds  Greek 
and  Italian.  Nevertheless  this  spoilt  girl  had  struck  a 
blow  at  the  pride  which  went  ever  walking  about  the  world 
with  a  chip  lightly  poised  on  its  shoulder.  Anthony  had 
no  desire  to  poach  on  my  preserves.  At  the  same  time 
he  yearned  to  show  Miss  Gilder  that  he  could  be  her  mas- 
ter, not  her  servant. 

Once  Anthony  and  I  had  made  up  our  minds,  everything 
else  arranged  itself  with  lightning  speed.  Sir  Marcus, 
rejoicing  in  his  ill-got  conquest  of  us,  broke  to  me  the 
news  that  I  must  go  by  the  first  ship  to  the  Piraeus,  to 
meet  the  Candace,  and  head  off  the  recalcitrant  band  of 
passengers.  He  flattered  me  by  thinking  that,  if  I  took 
the  place  of  Colonel  Corkran  as  conductor,  they  would 
abandon  their  plot  to  desert  the  yacht  at  Alexandria. 
It  was,  according  to  Lark's  secret  information,  only  the 
"smart  and  would-be  smart  set"  who  had  combined  to 
spring  this  mine  upon  the  management.  The  rest  grum- 
bled no  more  than  it'  was  normal  for  all  pleasure-pilgrims 
to  grumble;  and  as,  roughly  speaking,  the  contented  trav- 
ellers were  all  going  on  to  Palestine  after  a  week's  wild 
sightseeing  in  Cairo,  the  colonel  might  be  allowed  to 
continue  his  voyage  without  the  interruption  of  a  "row." 

"I  should  have  had  enough  common  sense  at  the  start," 
growled  Sir  Marcus  with  crude  candour,  "to  engage  a 
lord  for  the  Smart  Set,  and  a  parson  for  the  Ernest 
Inquirers.  There's  a  world  of  difference  catering  for 
a  Set,  and  a  Flock.  The  art  is,  to  know  it,  and  how 
to  do  it.  Now  I've  secured  you,  I'm  all  right  with  the 


REVELATIONS  OF  A  COLONEL  93 

S.  S.  and  thanks  be,  I've  a  young  reformed  missionary  on 
board  to  shepherd  the  Flock.  Now  the  Reverend  Watts 
will  come  in  handy,  herding  his  sheep  through  Palestine, 
while  the  colonel  swaggers  and  fancies  he's  bossing  the 
show.  It's  the  Egypt  lot  I  worry  about:  girls  out  for 
dukes,  and  dukes  out  for  dollars.  Not  that  there's  a 
darned  duke  on  board,  but  there  are  some  who  think  they 
out-duke  the  dukes,  and  it's  our  business  to  humour  'em. 
You  just  duff  all  you  want  to,  Lord  Ernest,  they'll  swallow 
anything  you  do,  like  honey.  Don't  bother  about  a  line 
of  conduct:  only  be  genial.  Murmur  soft  nothings  to  the 
women;  flirt  but  don't  have  favourites.  Don't  be  too 
political  with  the  men:  work  in  plenty  of  anecdotes  about 
your  swell  relations." 

I  replied  that  I  could  confidently  promise  geniality, 
except  if  seasick:  but  Sir  Marcus  implored  me  at  all 
costs  not  to  be  seasick.  That  was  the  one  thing  I  must  not 
be.  My  whole  time  between  the  Piraeus  and  Alexandria,  on 
board  the  Candace,  must  be  spent  ingratiating  myself  with 
the  sulky  passengers,  and  obliterating  from  their  memories 
the  crimes  of  Colonel  Corkran.  In  Sir  Marcus'  opinion 
my  future  charges  had  taken  passage  on  the  Candace, 
and  would  go  up  the  Nile,  not  to  see  sights,  but  to  be 
seen  doing  the  right  things.  According  to  him  not  two 
out  of  twenty  cared  tuppence  for  Egypt,  but  wished  to 
talk  about  it  in  sparkling  style  at  home.  My  friend 
Captain  Fenton  and  I  must  make  it  sparkle.  Sir  Marcus 
had  resigned  himself  to  the  fact  that  one  of  his  trump 
cards  —  Anthony  —  could  not  be  produced  until  the 
arrival  in  Cairo  of  the  troupe,  and  that  even  then,  the 
name  of  Fenton  must  not  be  used  as  an  attraction.  Lark 


04  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

felt  confident  that  I  was  a  good  enough  card  to  make  his 
hand  worth  playing,  and  in  spite  of  the  half  contemptuous 
amusement  with  which  I  regarded  the  whole  scheme,  I 
couldn't  help  being  "on  my  mettle."  I  found  myself 
wanting  to  succeed,  wanting  to  please  the  big,  common 
man  whom  a  few  hours  ago  I  had  been  cursing. 

I  had  to  start  for  Greece  the  night  after  our  decision. 
Meanwhile,  I  was  anxious  to  explain  the  unexplainable 
to  Brigit  and  Monny,  and  secure  the  party  for  Sir  Marcus 
Lark's  alleged  dahabeah,  which  turned  out  to  be  one  of 
Cook's  old  boats  bought  and  newly  decorated.  Both 
my  tasks  would  be  difficult.  I  had  to  hide  the  secret 
reason  for  selling  myself  to  the  financier,  and  at  the  same 
time  keep  the  respect  of  the  ladies.  As  for  inducing 
Miss  Gilder  to  give  up  her  dream  of  a  private  dahabeah, 
I  foresaw  that  it  would  be  like  persuading  the  youngest 
lioness  in  the  Cairo  Zoo  to  surrender  her  cherished  wooden 
ba,U.  But  I  began  by  giving  Monny  a  present;  a  fine  old 
turban-box  of  rare,  red  tortoise  shell  inlaid  with  mother 
o'  pearl^  which  I  found  at  an  antiquary's.  In  the  silk- 
lined  box  reposed  a  green  turban;  and  that  green  turban 
told  its  own  story.  Miss  Gilder  flushed  with  pleasure  at 
sight  of  it.  "I've  won  my  bet!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  said  I.  "To  my  astonishment!  The  man 
consents.  He's  a  great  prize,  knows  Cairo  and  upper 
Egypt  like  a  book.  But  you'll  have  to  surrender  him 
when  you  go  on  the  Nile." 

In  her  haste  to  know  why,  Monny  forgot  to  ask  how  I 
had  obtained  the  green  turban;  and  for  this  I  was  glad, 
because  it  was  only  the  second  best  headgear  of  my  smart 
friend  the  Hadji.  In  explaining  that  the  distinguished 


REVELATIONS  OF  A  COLONEL  95 

Egyptian  had  been  engaged  by  Sir  Marcus  Lark,  I 
slipped  in  a  word  about  my  own  part  in  the  trip,  describ- 
ing it  as  an  ideal  rest-cure  for  a  budding  diplomat  on 
sick  leave.  I  praised  the  boat  and  spoke  of  the  fun 
on  board.  I  regretted  Miss  Gilder's  preference  for 
a  private  dahabeah,  so  obvious,  so  millionairy!  Still, 
I  added,  every  one  to  his  taste!  And  anyhow,  no  doubt 
all  the  best  cabins  on  the  Enchantress  Isis  were  taken. 

That  was  the  entering  wedge  —  the  mention  of  an 
obstacle  to  overcome.  Miss  Gilder  looked  thoughtful, 
though  she  kept  silence:  and  next  day,  when  making  my 
adieux  before  starting  for  Alexandria,  she  flung  out  a  care- 
less question.  When  would  the  Enchantress  Isis  leave 
Cairo?  How  many  passengers  would  she  carry?  Would 
there  be  a  rush  at  the  Temples,  or  would  there  be  plenty 
of  time  for  proper  sightseeing?  And  was  I  sure  that 
all  the  nicest  cabins  were  engaged?  No,  I  was  not  sure. 
I  could  inquire.  I  tried  not  to  look  triumphant,  but  I 
must  have  darted  out  a  ray,  because  Monny  withdrew 
into  her  shell.  She  had  inquired  out  of  curiosity,  she  ex- 
plained. I  had  told  such  stories  about  the  Enchantress 
Isis  that  she  would  like  to  see  her.  Perhaps  Antoun 
Effendi  could  get  permission  for  a  visit  to  the  boat. 

In  this  state  I  had  to  leave  affairs,  and  start  for  the 
Piraeus,  where  I  must  await  the  return  of  the  tourists 
from  Athens.  I  had  two  days  at  sea  in  which  to  work 
up  an  agony  of  apprehension,  and  I  could  have  thanked 
heaven  when,  arriving  on  board  the  big  white  yacht,  I 
found  that  I  was  ahead  of  the  passengers.  I  was  expected, 
however,  and  a  deck  cabin  was  ready  for  my  occupation. 
I  hoped  that  I  had  not  turned  out  my  rival  from  the  room, 


96  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

but  dared  not  question  the  steward.  He  seemed  to  know 
all  about  me,  nevertheless,  and  said  that  my  name  had 
been  "posted  up"  as  conductor  of  the  Nile  party.  "If  I 
may  take  the  liberty  of  mentioning  it,  my  lord,"  he  added, 
"  it  has  made  a  very  good  impression."  We  were  to  steam 
for  Alexandria  the  moment  the  passengers  arrived  in  the 
special  train  —  having  had  three  days  of  sightseeing  in 
Athens  —  and  I  had  just  got  my  possessions  stowed  away 
when  a  wave  of  chattering  voices  broke  over  the  ship. 
My  heart  gave  a  jump,  as  a  soldier's  must  when  called  to 
fight  on  an  empty  stomach  at  dawn  on  a  winter's  morning. 
What  ought  I  to  do?  How  was  I  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  my  future  charges?  Must  it  be  en  masse,  or  could 
it  be  done  singly?  I  had  neglected  to  ask  Sir  Marcus 
what  would  be  expected  of  me,  and  I  was  in  a  worse  funk 
than  a  new  boy  on  his  first  day  at  school.  Soon  it  would 
be  dinner  time.  I  wished  that  I  were  ill,  but  I  remem- 
bered that  the  one  thing  I  must  not  do  was  to  be  seasick. 
Already  the  ship  was  beginning  to  move  out  of  the  Greek 
harbour,  or  I  should  have  been  tempted  to  get  a  telegram 
calling  me  home.  Even  the  Mountain  of  the  Golden 
Pyramid  seemed  not  too  great  a  sacrifice  to  make  —  but 
it  was  too  late  to  make  it  — •  and  some  one  was  knocking 
at  my  door. 

I  opened  it  with  such  courage  as  I  had;  and  the  instant 
I  set  eyes  on  the  man  I  knew  that  he  was  Colonel  Corkran. 
He  was  born  to  be  a  retired  colonel.  What  came  before 
the  retiring  could  have  been  but  a  prelude.  A  stout 
figure  of  middle  height;  red  face,  veined  on  cheeks  and 
nose;  pale  blue  eyes  which  looked  as  if  they  had  faded  in 
the  wash;  purple  moustache  and  eyebrows;  close-cropped 


97 

gray  hair;  a  double  chin  clamouring  for  extra  collar 
space;  and  a  bridge-player's  expression.  This  was  the 
rival  whose  place  I  had  virtually,  though  not  officially, 
usurped. 

I  was  prepared  to  hear  him  hiss  "Viper!"  between  his 
teeth,  as  characters  in  melodramatic  serials  do  to  per- 
fection, their  front  teeth  having  doubtless  been  designed 
for  such  purposes.  But  his  look  seemed  to  denote  pity 
rather  than  hatred.  So  might  a  prison- warder  regard  a 
condemned  man,  in  coming  to  announce  the  hour  of 
execution. 

"Lord  Ernest  Borrow?"  said  he,  in  a  slightly  hoarse 
voice.  "I'm  Colonel  Corkran.  Delighted  to  meet  you. 
I've  met  your  brother,  Lord  Killeena.  Daresay  he 
wouldn't  remember  me.  I  don't  think  I  can  begin  bet- 
ter than  by  thanking  you  for  coming  to  take  over  my 
job." 

"Oh,  I  haven't  done  that!"  I  hastened  to  protest, 
as  he  sat  fatly  down  in  a  chair  I  pushed  forward.  "As  I 
understand,  I'm  to  take  a  few  people  off  your  hands,  and 
the  hands  of  your  assistant,  Mr.  Kruger,  so  that  you  can 
go  to  Palestine  instead  of  leaving  that  important  excur- 
sion entirely  to  the  chaplain,  Mr.  Watts." 

Colonel  Corkran  laughed.  "Thank  you  for  trying  to 
save  my  feelings,"  said  he.  "But  I  assure  you  they're 
not  hurt.  I'm  sincerely  delighted  to  see  you  —  for  my 
own  sake.  For  yours  —  well,  that's  another  pair  of 
shoes!  My  dear  fellow,  I  wonder  if  you've  the  smallest 
idea  what  you're  in  for?" 

"In  for?"  I  echoed. 

"Yes.     I'm  saying  this  as  a  friend.     Don't  think  I'm 


98  TT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

jealous.  Lord,  no!  I  look  on  you  as  a  deliverer.  And 
don't  think  I  want  to  frighten  you.  It  isn't  that.  But  I 
feel  it's  my  duty  to  prepare  you.  I  might  have  got  on 
better  if  there'd  been  some  one  to  do  the  same  by  me. 
There  wasn't.  Kruger,  my  so-called  assistant,  is  a  spy. 
At  best,  he's  a  mere  accountant,  not  supposed  to  look  after 
the  passengers  socially.  I  gather  that  he  was  some  secre- 
tary of  Lark's.  Beware  of  him.  He  writes  to  Lark  from 
every  port.  As  for  the  passengers,  the  saintly  lot  are 
bad  enough.  Yet  it's  only  the  food  and  the  cabins  and  the 
attendance  they  grumble  about.  I'm  shunted  off  the 
worldly  lot  onto  them  in  future.  But  at  their  worst, 
they'll  be  a  rest-cure!  and  Lark  has  the  decency  not  to 
reduce  my  screw.  It's  the  worldly  lot  that's  going  to 
make  you  curse  the  day  you  were  born." 

He  wanted  me  to  speak,  or  groan;  but  I  maintained 
a  stricken  silence,  to  which  I  gave  some  illusion  of  dig- 
nity. After  a  disappointed  pause  he  went  on:  "You'd 
better  know  something  about  these  people.  Beasts, 
every  one  of  'em,  young  or  old,  some  beastly  common 
beasts,  but  all  beastly  rich,  except  those  that  are  beastly 
poor,  and  on  the  make  —  to  marry  their  daughters,  or 
cadge  for  smart  friends.  Lark  was  bidding  for  swells, 
and  got  snobs.  Thinks  his  silly  title  will  carry  weight  in 
society  as  it  does  in  the  city.  'Lark  Pie,'  we're  called,  I 
hear.  I  call  us  a  'Pretty  Kettle  of  Fish!'  The  girls  are 
the  worst  of  the  caboodle,  though  some  of  'em  aren't  bad 
looking.  You  won't  believe  the  trouble  I've  had  with 
the  creatures  till  you  begin  to  get  the  same  yourself." 

"What  kind  of  trouble?"  I  inquired  gingerly. 

"Every  kind  a  woman  can  make.     Apart  from  food 


'ftRY 

uipuHni 


troubles,  they  think  they're  not  being  entertained  enough 
on  board;  think  I  ought  to  get  up  more  dances;  tango 
teas  I  suppose!  Don't  like  the  way  I  organize  games; 
are  mad  because  they  can't  have  music  at  meals  —  which 
they  can't  because  the  band's  all  stewards;  blame  me 
because  the  men  don't  make  love  to  them,  or  because 
they  do.  And  at  the  hotels  where  we  go  on  shore,  it's 
Hades.  Naturally  the  people  staying  in  the  hotels  resent 
us.  They  look  on  us  as  a  menagerie  —  a  rabble.  So  we 
are.  At  least,  they  are.  I  don't  count  myself  in  with 
them.  What  can  I  do?  I'm  not  omnipotent.  Perhaps 
you  are.  Anyhow,  they're  prepared  to  believe  it,  for 
you're  a  new  broom  —  a  broom  with  a  fine  handle.  I'm 
only  a  poor  colonel  with  a  few  medals  given  by  my  coun- 
try for  services  that  were  appreciated.  You're  brother  to 
a  marquis." 

"You  paint  a  lurid  picture  "  I  said,  when  he  stopped 
for  breath. 

"I  couldn't  paint  it  lurider  than  it  is.  But  you'll  have 
to  find  out  for  yourself.  It  won't  be  so  bad  while  you're 
a  novelty.  Don't  say  I  haven't  warned  you.  And  oh, 
by  the  way,  I've  announced  that  you're  to  be  presented  to 
the  passengers  at  dinner  to-night,  on  coming  in,  before 
the  soup  is  served." 

"As  a  sort  of  hors  d'oeuvre,  I  suppose,"  I  murmured 
weakly. 

Colonel  Corkran  stared,  without  a  smile.  "As  the 
titled  conductor  of  the  Egypt  tour,"  he  explained  to  my 
dull  intelligence,  with  a  slight  sneer.  "So  will  you  please 
be  La  the  dining  saloon  just  before  the  bugle  blows  the 
beasts  in?  I  have  to  introduce  you,  in  a  short  speech. 


100  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

It's  all  I  can  do,  except  say,  God  help  you!  But  I  don't 
see  how  He  can.  I  suppose  your  friend  Sir  Marcus 
told  you  that  you  would  be  expected  to  deliver  a 
lecture  on  Egypt,  to-night  at  the  dinner  table?  After 
you've  finished  your  dinner,  of  course.  I  hope  the 
cracking  and  crunching  of  nuts  doesn't  disturb  you 
much?  I  confess  I've  found  it  getting  on  my  nerves. 

I  was  aghast.  My  mind  jumped  to  the  wild  thought 
of  eating  soap,  in  order  to  froth  at  the  mouth  and  simulate 
a  fit.  It  seemed  my  only  way  of  escape,  and  after  that, 
the  Deluge.  But  my  rival  was  so  revelling  in  the  mental 
havoc  he  had  wrought  that  I  rallied,  replying  that,  as  Sir 
Marcus  had  not  broken  the  news  to  me,  I  didn't  see  how 
it  would  be  possible  to  deliver  a  lecture. 

"Aren't  you  up  on  Egypt?"  the  colonel  asked,  pity- 
ingly. "  Neither  am  I,  though  I've  sweated  over  Baedeker 
with  my  head  in  wet  towels,  when  I  wanted  to  be  at 
bridge.  But  I  thought  that  was  the  excuse  for  engaging 
you?  That,  and  your  title,  of  course,  which  is  going 
to  make  you  popular.  As  fast  as  I  fag  up  the  names  of 
those  beastly  Egyptian  gods  or  kings  and  queens,  they 
run  out  of  my  brains  like  water  out  of  a  sieve.  Or  if  I 
do  contrive  to  remember  any,  by  chance,  together  with 
their  dates,  which  is  almost  more  than  can  be  expected 
of  the  human  intellect,  why,  I  find  that  I  pronounce  'em 
wrong;  or  they're  spelled  another  way  in  the  next  book. 
But  I  suppose  as  you  know  Egypt,  its  d  —  d  history  comes 
natural  as  breathing." 

How  I  wished  it  did!  And  how  different  was  this  new 
programme  from  the  one  outlined  by  Sir  Marcus.  "Just 
to  be  genial,  and  flirt  with  the  girls. 


REVELATIONS  OF  A  COLONEL  101 

"My  recollections  of  Egypt  are  from  some  time  ago,"  I 
admitted.  "  To  give  a  lecture  at  half  an  hour's  notice  • " 

"In  justice  to  yourself  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to,'* 
the  colonel  persisted.  "It's  been  announced  that  you 
will  give  the  lecture,  and  the  Egypt  lot  are  looking  for- 
ward to  it  as  the  animals  in  a  zoo  look  forward  to  their 
food.  If  they're  defrauded,  they'll  think  you  a  slacker, 
and  that  you're  presuming  on  your  title." 

"I  shouldn't  like  that!"  my  anguish  racked  out  of  me. 

"I  fancied  you  wouldn't.  But  what's  to  be  done?  Am 
I  to  announce,  when  I  introduce  you,  that  your  knowledge 
of  Egypt  isn't  equal  to  the  strain?" 

I  took  an  instant  for  reflection.  I  knew  that  he  was 
hoping  I  might  throw  myself  on  his  mercy,  or  else  that  I 
would  speak  and  fail;  but  I  determined  to  do  neither. 
"On  second  thoughts,  I  may  be  able  to  give  some  kind  of 
a  pow-wow,"  I  replied. 

Colonel  Corkran's  face  fell.  "  That's  all  right,  then!" 
he  exclaimed,  getting  to  his  feet.  "Well,  I  must  be  off. 
Will  you  have  a  cocktail?" 

"No,  thanks,"  said  I.  "I  think  I  can  get  on  without 
it." 

He  was  at  the  door.  "Kind  of  hash  of  gods  and  god- 
desses with  a  peppering  of  kings  and  queens,  and  mixed 
sauce  of  history  and  legend,  is  what's  needed,"  were  his 
farewell  words.  Then  he  shut  the  door;  and  I  tore  my 
watch  from  the  pocket  of  my  waistcoat.  I  had  twenty- 
eight  minutes  in  which  to  prepare  the  said  hash  with  its 
seasoning  and  sauce;  and  the  bugle  was  inviting  my  judges 
to  dress  for  the  inquisition. 


vm 

FOXY  DUFFING 

"I'LL  SHOW  you  your  place,"  Corkran  volunteered, 
lying  in  wait  for  me  inside  the  saloon  door,  with  a  cocktail 
in  his  hand.  "Sony  you  wouldn't  have  one.  You'll 
need  it.  But  no  tune  to  change  your  mind.  I've  put 
you  at  the  head  of  the  table  that  would  be  the  captain's, 
if  he  ate  with  us,  which  he  doesn't  —  happy  man !  Place 
of  honour.  'Twas  mine,  'tis  yours.  But  I  can't  go  on 
with  the  quotation  unless  I  turn  it  into  'You're  slave  to 
thousands. '  Sixty  odd  can  be  as  formidable  as  thousands." 

"Are  there  sixty  odd?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  very  'odd.'  The  Egypt  lot  will  be  about  twenty- 
five.  But  the  whole  gang's  yours  for  the  present.  I 
give  them  to  you,  with  the  seat  of  honour." 

"Please  don't  put  me  in  your  place,"  I  protested.  "I 
prefer—- — " 

"My  poor  boy,  it  isn't  a  question  of  what  you  prefer, 
as  you'll  learn  if  you  stick  this  out.  Of  course  if  you 
funk  it  —  but  that's  a  joke !  This  table's  the  only  one 
where  you  can  be  heard.  Do  you  see?" 

I  did  see;  and  accepted  the  situation,  because  the  dinner 
bugle  began  to  sound,  and  I  could  not  be  scampering 
round  the  saloon  like  a  frightened  rabbit  as  the  Set  and  the 
Flock  began  dropping  in  to  dinner. 

102 


FOXY  DUFFING  10S 

A.S  it  happened,  they  did  not  drop  —  they  poured  into 
the  room  in  a  steady  stream,  which  phenomenon,  whis- 
pered Corkran,  was  caused  by  curiosity  for  a  first  sight 
of  me.  My  heart  counted  each  new  arrival,  with  a  bump. 

If  Corkran  had  not  represented  "Lark's  Party"  as 
being  a  menagerie  for  which  I  had  inadvertently  engaged 
as  tamer,  I  should  have  thought  they  looked  a  harmless 
crowd.  But  then,  of  course,  I  was  not  obliged  to  tame 
anybody  on  the  Laconia,  which  makes  a  difference  in 
one's  point  of  view.  Miss  Gilder  needed  taming,  no 
doubt,  but  I  hadn't  tackled  the  task.  My  thoughts  flew 
to  Cairo,  as  I  stood  struggling  to  look  pleasant;  and  I 
wished  myself  back  where  Anthony  Fenton  was  now  in. 
the  taming  business.  I  envied  him,  for  there  was  only  one 
Monny,  whereas  in  this  terrible,  bright  dining  saloon,  the 
air  was  pink  and  white  with  girls,  dozens  of  girls,  with  eyes 
fixed  on  me,  glittering  eyes,  which  appeared  like  the  head- 
lights of  motor  cars.  I  didn't  suppose  there  could  be  so 
many  eyes  in  the  world  as  these  people  of  all  ages  and 
every  possible  sex  seemed  to  own.  Sixty  odd  they  were, 
according  to  Corkran,  but  they  looked  like  six  hundred;  a 
human  miracle  of  loaves  and  fishes. 

Yes,  the  creatures  might  have  appeared  harmless  enough 
had  there  been  no  retired  colonel.  But  there  was  a  retired 
colonel,  and  so  deftly  had  he  undermined  my  courage 
that  almost  any  shock  might  cause  it  to  explode  in  a  blue 
flame  of  funk.  His  speech  of  introduction  was  now  to 
come,  and  if  I  survived  that,  I  might  hope  to  live  through 
my  own  fireworks. 

"They've  put  on  their  best  bibs  and  tuckers,"  Cork- 
ran  mumbled  in  a  stage  whisper,  as  the  eight  dwellers 


104  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

at  our  table  began  to  sort  themselves  for  places.  Then, 
in  portentous  silence  he  paused  till  everybody  everywhere 
was  seated.  Waiting  still,  until  satisfied  that  eyes  and 
ears  were  focussed  upon  us,  he  rapped  on  the  table  with 
the  handle  of  a  knife. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  roared,  "I  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  introducing  to  you  Sir  Marcus  Lark's  Great 
Surprise,  entitled  Lord  Ernest  Borrow,  younger  brother  of 
the  Marquis  of  Killeena,  a  peer,  as  Sir  Marcus  has  re- 
minded us,  of  the  oldest  lineage  in  Ireland.  Let  me 
reassure  you  all  by  saying  that  Lord  Ernest's  last  name 
is  as  unsuited  to  his  nature  as  the  first  is  true  to  it.  If 
you'll  pardon  the  pun  it  is  Sir  Marcus  who  '  Borrows'  for 
your  benefit,  and  he  hasn't  Borrowed  Trouble,  but  a 
Blessing  —  in  disguise.  I  am  now  left  free,  as  suits  my 
superior  age  and  experience,  to  devote  my  attention  to 
the  serious  minded  ones  among  you,  who  are  to  proceed 
with  the  Reverend  Mr.  Watts  and  myself  to  Palestine. 
This  young  and  gallant  neophyte  will  'lord'  it  over  the 
fleshpots  of  Egypt  and  those  about  to  seek  them.  I 
hope  you'll  help  him  as  loyally  as  you  have  helped  me: 
and  later  we'll  drink  to  his  health  and  success,  in  any 
beverage  we  happen  to  have  signed  for!" 

To  have  killed  Corkran  might  have  been  butchery; 
no  jury  could  have  brought  in  a  verdict  of  murder  or  even 
manslaughter,  had  I  stabbed  him  with  the  knife  he  used 
to  pound  upon  the  table.  I  smiled  the  smile  of  a  skull  in 
a  doctor's  waiting-room,  and  in  a  sickly  voice  bleated  my 
pleasure  in  meeting  these  new  acquaintances.  I  hoped 
we  might  be  —  er  —  friends  as  well  as  shipmates.  Then 
like  a  mass  of  jelly  out  of  its  mould  I  plopped  onto  my 


FOXY  DUFFING  105 

chair.  The  colonel  had  sneaked  off  to  his  own  table  and  I 
was  left  to  recover  myself  as  best  I  might  among  eight  of 
his  enemies.  They  proved  (in  whispers)  to  be  the  most 
active  of  these,  and  tacitly  offered  me  allegiance  whch  I 
accepted  in  the  same  manner.  There  was  a  Sir  John  Bid- 
dell,  who  informed  me  in  the  first  five  minutes  that  he  had 
been  Lord  Mayor  of  London.  He  promised  to  show  me  a 
speech  he  had  made  in  the  presence  of  King  Edward  which, 
in  the  form  of  a  newspaper  cutting,  he  never  travelled 
without.  This,  however,  was  his  first  trip  farther  than 
Paris,  and  he  had  brought  with  him,  not  only  the  speech, 
but  his  wife  and  twin  daughters.  The  distinguished 
family  occupied  one  side  of  my  table :  the  other  was  given 
up  to  a  General  Harlow,  his  wife  (both  with  high  profiles 
and  opinions  of  themselves),  a  youngish  newspaper  pro- 
prietor from  Manchester,  evidently  rich  and  a  "catch," 
and  a  maiden  lady  doubtless  of  importance  equal  to  her 
proportions,  as  she  was  allowed  to  bring  to  the  table  a 
melancholy  marmoset.  These  people  did  their  best  to 
raise  my  spirits.  The  girls,  who  copied  royalties  in  their 
hair-dressing,  looked  alike,  dressed  alike,  talked  and 
laughed  alike,  and  entertained  me  with  chat  about  high 
society  in  London.  They  had  red  cheeks,  black  eyes, 
white  teeth,  and  an  almost  indecent  familiarity  with  the 
private  lives  of  the  aristocracy.  The  Misses  Biddell  and 
fat  Miss  Hassett-Bean  (the  lady  of  the  marmoset)  hinted 
that  the  cream  of  the  yacht's  social  life  had  risen  to  our 
table,  and  told  me,  not  only  what  to  lecture  about,  but 
how  to  treat  the  rival  cliques.  My  brain  felt  more  and 
more  like  a  blotting-pad.  I  answered  at  random  and 
longed  for  the  meal  to  end  —  until  I  remembered  my  lee- 


106  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

ture.  Then  I  wished  that  dinner  might  go  on  indefinitely 
like  the  tea  party  of  the  Mad  Hatter.  All  too  soon  the 
glory  of  a  French  menu  flickered  down  to  a  dying  spark 
of  nuts  and  raisins,  and  hardly  had  I  cracked  my  first 
almond  (was  it  an  ill  omen  that  there  should  be  a  worm 
in  it?)  when  a  steward  handed  me  a  twisted  note  from  the 
executioner.  "The  rule  for  conductor's  dinner  speech  is, 
rise  with  the  raisins!  Hope  you  won't  find  your  lecture 
too  hard  a  nut  to  crack.  Yours  sympathetically,  Cork- 
ran.  Bang  on  the  table  to  make  them  stop  gabbling.  Or 
shall  I  do  it  for  you?  If  you  haven't  by  the  time  I  count 
ten,  I  will." 

He  did.  I  trust  it  wasn't  my  courage  that  failed. 
But  having  a  raisin  in  my  mouth  I  could  not  on  the 
instant  respond  to  the  lash.  And  as  Corkran  would  have 
said,  it  takes  more  than  one  swallow  to  make  a  speech. 
Ruthlessly  he  rapped,  seizing  what  I  wished  might  be  his 
dying  chance  to  indulge  a  mania  for  puns  and  thumping 
wood. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  bawled  from  his  compara- 
tively obscure  corner.  "  Lord  Ernest  Borrow  will  render 
your  last  moments  the  most  enjoyable  of  the  meal,  by 
washing  down  your  nuts  and  raisins  with  the  wine  of  his 
eloquence.  Take  your  desserts  now.  We  conscientious 
conductors  hope  for  ours  in  heaven." 

How  ardently  I  desired  that  these  might  indeed  be  the 
"last  moments"  not  only  of  my  audience  but  of  Colonel 
Corkran.  If  the  next  second  had  brought  a  tidal  wave 
or  a  collision  I  should  have  blessed  Providence.  But  I 
got  to  my  feet  —  and  nothing  happened.  I  seemed  to  be 
in  a  dream,  of  having  shot  up  to  a  gigantic  height,  and 


FOXY  DUFFING  107 

having  put  on  the  wrong  clothes,  or  none.  My  hands 
weighed  two  pounds  each,  and  ought  to  have  been  at  the 
butcher's.  My  mouth  was  the  size  of  a  negro  minstrel's, 
and  so  full  of  large  bones  which  once  had  been  teeth  that 
I  could  not  utter  a  syllable.  I  clacked  my  jaws,  and 
emitted  a  hacking  cough  which  fortunately  so  much  re- 
sembled that  of  a  professional  lecturer  that  I  kept  my 
senses.  Not  only  did  I  keep  them,  but  they  seemed  sud- 
denly to  become  my  servants.  The  thought  of  a  certain 
fable  jumped  into  my  head,  and  I  began  thereupon  to 
speak;  although  I  had  forgotten  everything  I  had  ever 
read  of  Egyptian  history. 

"It  happens,"  said  I,  in  a  phonographic  voice,  "that 
I  was  born  in  Egypt.  J  played  with  clay  gods  and  god- 
desses instead  of  tin  soldiers.  I  preferred  stories  of  Egypt's 
past  and  present  to  tales  of  adventure.  I  confess  to 
you  what  I  fear  I  didn't  confess  to  Sir  Marcus  Lark. 
The  trouble  is,  I'm  stuffed  too  full  of  facts  about  Egypt. 
I  want  you  to  help  me  get  them  out,  and  not  duplicate 
yours.  No  doubt  all  of  you,  in  travelling  to  the  East, 
have  packed  your  brains  with  knowledge  as  well  as 
your  boxes  with  guide  books.  Why  should  I  bore  you 
by  telling  you  things  that  you  were  born  knowing?  A 
plan  has  occurred  to  me  by  which  your  knowledge  can  be 
turned  into  account.  As  I  said,  I  beg  your  help.  And 
permission  to  drink  a  cup  of  coffee  would  be  first  aid." 

People  laughed,  whether  at  me,  or  with  me,  I  was  not 
sure;  yet  I  felt  that  I  had  tickled  their  curiosity.  Coffee 
was  going  round.  Corkran  was  unctuously  sipping  his, 
and  had  not  expected  me  to  receive  mine  till  after  the 
battle.  But  I  got  it  in  spite  of  him,  and  mapped  out  a 


108  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

programme  as  I  drank.  Then  I  ceased  to  tremble  before 
the  confused  assemblage  or  bird-headed  gods,  cat-faced 
goddesses,  and  sacred  vultures  that  danced  or  flapped  in 
my  brain. 

I  no  longer  felt  inclined  to  commit  suicide  because  I 
could  remember  nothing  about  Egypt  except  that  the 
Delta  was  shaped  like  a  lily,  with  the  Fayum  for  a  bud, 
and  the  Nile  for  its  stem :  that  Alexander  the  Macedonian 
defeated  Darius  the  Persian  B.  C.  three  hundred  and 
something;  that  ancient  Egyptians  loved  beer,  but  were 
forbidden  to  eat  beans. 

"My  proposal  is,"  I  went  on,  "that  before  I  unload  any 
of  my  knowledge  upon  you,  I  gleam  some  idea  of  what  you 
know  already.  Thus  I  can  spare  you  repetitions.  Any 
one  who  has  anything  particularly  interesting  to  say  about 
Egypt,  let  him  — -or  her  —  hold  up  a  hand." 

Now  was  the  crucial  moment.  If  no  hand  went  up, 
I  was  lost.  But  hardly  were  the  words  out  of  my  mouth 
when  there  was  a  waving  as  if  in  a  wind-swept  wheatfield 
Place  aux  dames!  I  called  upon  Miss  Hassett-Bean 
to  begin.  She  rustled  silkily  up,  bowing  to  me,  then 
directing  an  acetylene  glare  upon  Colonel  Corkran's 
end  of  the  room.  She  was,  I  foresaw,  about  to  kill  two 
birds  with  one  stone,  to  say  nothing  of  the  marmoset, 
who  fell  off  her  arm  into  General  Harlow's  coffee  and 
created  a  brief  diversion.  As  soon,  however,  as  the 
monkey  was  rescued  and  before  General  Harlow's  shirt 
front  was  dried,  the  lady  began  to  speak. 

"We  all  thank  Lord  Ernest,"  she  said,  looking  from  the 
colonel  to  the  Reverend  Wyman  Watts,  and  back 
again,  "for  sparing  us  one  of  those  commonplace  in- 


FOXY  DUFFING  109 

flictions  from  which  weVe  nightly  suffered  on  board  this 
yacht.  If  we  didn't  know  already,  such  school-book 
facts  as  Christianity  being  introduced  to  Egypt  by  St. 
Mark  in  Nero's  time,  and  Moses  and  Plato  both  studying 
philosophy  at  Heliopolis,  and  things  like  that,  we  wouldn't 
be  spending  our  money  with  Sir  Marcus  A.  Lark  to  see 
Egypt.  Never  before  have  we  been  encouraged  to  air 
our  views.  Those  of  us  with  political  opinions  have  been 
snubbed;  and  we  who  are  interested  in  Woman  Suffrage 
have  been  assured  that  we'll  find  nothing  to  please  us  in 
the  land  of  Veiled  Women.  At  last  I  am  given  a  chance 
to  state  without  being  interrupted  that  Egypt  was  once 
the  most  enlightened  country  in  her  treatment  of  women. 
Long  before  the  time  of  the  Greeks,  and  even  before  the 
Shepherd  Kings  Mr.  Watts  has  told  us  so  much  about, 
using  his  Old  Testament  as  if  it  were  a  Baedeker,  the 
women  of  Ancient  Egypt  had  rights  according  to  their 
class.  Queens  and  princesses  were  considered  equal  with 
their  husbands.  Women  were  great  musicians,  playing 
on  many  instruments,  especially  the  sistrum,  sacred  to  the 
goddess  Hathor.  And  weren't  all  the  best  gods  goddesses, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it?  Women  used  to  drive 
their  own  chariots,  as  we  do  our  motors,  and  hold  salons, 
like  the  French  ladies.  There  was  Rhodopis,  for  in- 
stance, who  married  the  brother  of  Sappho.  I  wonder  if 
Colonel  Corkran  could  have  told  you  that  the  story  of 
Cinderella  comes  from  an  anecdote  of  Rhodopis?  I 
hardly  think  that  he's  been  able  to  spare  enough  time  from 
bridge  to  study  Strabo,  who  was  the  Baedeker  of  Egypt 
for  tourists  six  hundred  years  before  Christ.  An  eagle  saw 
Rhodopis  bathing,  and  stealing  one  of  her  sandals  flew 


110  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

with  it  to  Memphis,  where  he  dropped  it  into  the  king's 
lap.  It  was  so  small  and  dainty  that  King  Hophra 
scoured  Egypt  for  the  owner,  and  when  he  found  her  at 
last,  according  to  Strabo,  made  her  his  queen." 

"If  Strabo  was  right,  she  lived  long  before  Sappho's 
day!"  interpolated  the  colonel's  voice. 

"Of  course,  Strabo  was  right.  There  were  two  of 
Rhodopis.  Everybody  knows  that.  The  Third  Pyra- 
mid was  built  for  the  tomb  of  the  first  one,  not  for  King 
Mycineris,  /  believe.  Why  shouldn't  a  woman  have  a 
Pyramid  to  herself?  The  Sphinx  is  a  woman,  as  I  will 
insist  to  my  dying  day,  if  it  were  my  last  word!  I  hope 
Lord  Ernest  won't  ram  down  our  throats  any  nonsense 
about  that  noble  and  graceful  tribute  to  the  Mystery  of 
Womanhood  being  a  stupid  King  Harmachis,  or  Horem- 
khu.  I  wouldn't  believe  it  if  X  found  a  hundred  nasty 
stone  beards  lying  buried  in  the  sand  under  her  chin,  in- 
stead of  one,  which  could  easily  have  been  put  there  to 
deceive  people.  Probably  King  Harmachis  had  the 
Sphinx  altered  to  look  like  him.  No  wonder  she  shud- 
dered at  such  profanation,  and  shed  her  false  beard.  There 
you  have  my  theory.  And  as  for  Egypt  being  now  the 
land  of  Veiled  Women,  where  Suffragettes  find  no 
sympathy,  I've  heard  that  the  prophet's  order  for  veiling 
has  been  purposely  misconstrued  by  tyrannical  men,  with 
their  usual  jealousy.  Even  Mohammed  himself  was 
jealous. 

With  this  Miss  Hassett-Bean  sat  down,  amid  fitful 
applause;  and  at  my  earnest  request,  Miss  Enid  Biddell, 
the  prettier  twin,  stood  bravely  up.  She  wished,  be- 
fore the  subject  was  changed,  to  tell  some  little  things 


FOXY  DUFFING  111 

she  had  read  about  the  girls  of  Ancient  Egypt,  how  like 
they  were  to  girls  of  to-day,  in  all  their  ways,  especially 
in  —  in  things  concerning  love.  It  was  they  who  first 
questioned  the  petals  of  flowers  for  their  lovers'  loyalty. 
How  much  they  thought  about  their  clothes,  too,  getting 
their  best  things  from  foreign  countries,  as  women  did 
now,  from  Paris !  It  was  so  funny  to  read  how  the  girls  of 
Old  Egypt  had  consulted  palmists  and  fortunertellers  and 
astrologers  just  as  girls  did  in  Bond  Street  now;  and  that 
what  'Billikens'  and  'Swasticas'  and  birth-stonos  were  to 
us,  images  of  gods  were  to  the  girls  of  Egypt  who  lived 
before  the  days  of  Moses!  They  had  scarab  rings  with 
magic  inscriptions,  and  sacred  apes  for  the  symbol  of 
Intelligence,  and  lucky  eyes  of  Horus,  wounded  by  the 
wicked  god  Set,  and  cured  by  the  love  of  Isis.  On  their 
bracelets  and  necklaces  they  hung  charms,  and  their 
dressing-tables  were  covered  with  images  of  favourite 
gods  and  goddesses.  Hathor,  the  goddess  of  Love  and 
Joy,  was  supposed  to  give  her  choicest  gifts  to  girls  who 
wore  her  special  colour  (that  green-blue  in  the  Temple  of 
Edfu  which  Robert  Hichens  calls  "the  colour  of  love") 
and  to  those  who  had  her  pet  stones,  emeralds,  or  tur- 
quoises. Nowadays,  in  Egypt,  the  jewels  of  the  women 
Vrere  only  lent  to  them  by  their  men,  and  could  be  taken 
away  as  a  punishment,  or  be  pawned  or  sold  in  case  of 
need;  but  in  old  days  Egyptian  women  had  all  their  most 
beautiful  possessions  buried  with  them. 

When  her  sister  had  finished  I  urged  the  other  twin  to 
speak,  and  timidly  Miss  Elaine  repeated  to  us  what  a 
friend  of  hers,  a  clergyman  (here  a  blush)  had  told  her. 
That  the  Red  Sea  was  not  red  but  a  brighter  blue  than  any 


112  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

sea  in  the  world,  and  called  red  only  because  it  washed 
the  Red  Lands.  Her  friend  had  written  down  for  her 
in  verse  such  a  sweet  legend  about  the  Nile  rising  every 
spring  from  a  single  tear  shed  by  Isis,  a  much  more 
powerful  goddess  than  Hathor,  because  she  was  the 
goddess  of  goodness  as  well  as  love.  And  the  Nile 
used  to  be  named  Sihor  by  the  Egyptians;  and  the  year 
separated  into  three  seasons,  Flood  tune,  Seed  time,  and 
Harvest.  Miss  BiddelTs  friend  was  writing  a  book  about 
Egypt  and  was  going  to  divide  it  in  three  parts  like  that. 
It  was  to  be  dedicated  to  her. 

Bless  the  dear  creatures,  how  they  kept  the  ball  rolling 
to  please  themselves,  and  —  indirectly  —  to  sort  out 
my  stock  of  ideas! 

Harry  Snell,  the  newspaper  man,  was  not  hard  to  persuade 
to  his  feet.  He  was  studying  the  resemblance  between 
Arabic  and  English  words.  He  had  found  out,  among  other 
things,  that  Tally  ho  was  "  Tally  hoon,"  brought  home 
by  the  Crusaders.  He  even  had  a  theory  that  some  of 
our  words  came  from  the  early  Egyptian.  "Amen," 
for  instance,  he  believed  to  be  derived  from  "Amon," 
the  name  of  the  great  god,  father  of  all  the  other  gods 
of  Egypt,  which  was  cried  aloud,  he  understood,  in  the 
temples,  during  religious  services.  The  parson  jumped 
eagerly  up  to  dispute  this  theory,  and  happily  forgetful  of 
me,  seized  the  opportunity  to  spring  upon  us  a  few  facts 
from  his  own  store.  When,  however,  Mr.  Watts'  dis- 
course got  him  as  far  as  Joseph's  Well  in  the  Citadel, 
General  Harlow  could  bear  no  more,  but  sprang  up  to  in- 
form us  that  the  Joseph  of  the  Well  in  the  Citadel  was 
quite  another  Joseph,  some  Yusef  of  the  Arab  conquerors. 


FOXY  DUFFING  113 

The  general  knew  all  about  that,  because  his  son  was 
stationed  in  the  Citadel.  And  he  proceeded  to  meander 
on  historically,  over  a  period  between  the  first  Arab  con- 
queror Amru,  to  Haroun-al-Raschid,  assuring  us  that  old 
Cairo  was  the  city  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  He  would,  to 
my  joy,  have  gone  on  indefinitely  from  Saladin  to  Napo- 
leon if  Sir  John  Biddell,  as  the  only  baronet  on  board,  had 
not  cut  the  only  general  short.  He  is  a  square  man  whose 
portrait  could  be  properly  done  only  by  a  Cubist.  "Too 
much  history,  my  friend!"  he  shouted,  getting  up  with 
the  manner  of  one  accustomed  to  making  dinner-table 
speeches.  "What  most  of  us  are  coming  to  Egypt  for  is 
mummies.  Egyptian  history  is  too  troublesome,  anyhow, 
for  a  normal  man  to  grasp.  Give  me  mummies !  There's 
something  in  them.  Why,  even  if  you  get  a  king  or  queen 
fixed  in  your  head,  somebody  who's  paid  to  make  you 
know  things  you  don't  know"  (an  eye-shot  for  Corkran) 
"comes  along  and  swears  they  didn't  exist.  Now,  there's 
Mena.  I'd  pinned  him  like  a  stuck  butterfly.  I  could 
remember  that  he  was  the  first  known  king,  and  founded 
Memphis  and  lived  six  thousand  years  before  Christ,  all 
because  we're  going  to  stay  at  Mena  House,  which  is 
named  after  him.  I  don't  know  why  I  remembered  him 
that  way,  but  I  did.  Just  as  I  could  recall  the  queen  with 
a  name  like  a  sneeze  by  thinking  of  her  as  Queen  Hat-and- 
Shoes.  Now  Colonel  Corkran  informs  us  that  we  must 
pronounce  her,  in  a  different  way.  And  what's  the  conse- 
quence to  me?  I've  ceased  to  try  and  keep  track  of  her. 
King  Mena,  too,  is  lost  to  me  forever,  through  the  over- 
conscientiousness  of  our  late  conductor,  who  says  there 
never  was  a  Mena,  only  several  kings  they've  mixed 


114  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

into  one.  7  seem  to  be  the  one  who's  most  mixed  up! 
To  whet  my  appetite  for  Egypt  now,  I  have  to  have 
something  tasty.  Where's  the  good  of  stuffing  my  mind 
with  a  string  of  names  which  I  couldn't  mention  to  any 
one  at  home,  because  I  can't  pronounce  them?  The  word 
Dynasty  (he  pronounced  it  Die-nasty)  makes  me  sick! 
Luckily  I  feel  that  nobody  else  will  know  any  more  than 
I  do.  I'm  coming  to  Egypt  for  a  rest-cure,  because  I 
don't  have  to  learn  its  history.  But  some  lecturers  won't 
let  me  have  a  minute's  peace.  A  king  named  Sneferu 
couldn't  expect  to  appeal  to  a  man  like  me,  even  if  he  did 
build  the  oldest  Pyramid,  and  even  if  you  could  show  me 
his  mummy,  which  you  can't.  But  I  draw  the  line  at 
kings  without  mummies.  I  don't  want  to  know  them. 
Now,  my  wife  is  against  mummies  on  show.  She's  heard 
that  the  malignance  of  mummies,  especially  in  museums,  is 
incredible.  And  she  thinks  it  a  judgment  that  some  of 
the  most  distinguished  ones  are  going  bad.  She  says  it's 
spite.  I  say  its  management.  But  I'm  not  ready  to 
sit  down  yet!  My  wife  means  to  start  a  society  for  the 
Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Mummies,  with  the  object 
of  sending  them  back  to  their  tombs  where  they  can  rest 
in  that  state  of  death  it  pleased  their  gods  to  call  them  to. 
Their  object  was  eternal  privacy,  and  they  spent  more  on 
their  tombs  than  their  houses,  because  they  expected  to  be 
dead  a  long  time,  and  wanted  all  the  comforts  of  home. 
But  I  judge  mummies  by  myself.  It  wouldn't  have  taken 
me  these  thousands  of  years  to  realize  how  narrow  and  un- 
christian my  notions  had  been.  I  should  see  that  I 
owed  some  duty  to  the  world;  and  as  so  much  posterity 
had  rolled  by  since  my  day,  I'd  feel  that  lying  in  a 


FOXY  DUFFING  115 

museum  at  some  large  place  like  Cairo,  was,  after  all,  the 
only  way  to  keep  my  name  before  the  public.  Now, 
that  brings  me  to  my  tip  for  Lord  Ernest.  He  asks 
what  there  is  we  don't  know,  and  want  to  know.  I'll 
answer  for  us  all,  being  used  to  feel  the  pulse  of  crowds. 
We  want  to  know  what  the  deuce  Ancient  Egyptians 
really  believed  about  death  and  religion.  Had  they  any 
sense,  or  were  they  just  plain  fools?  " 

On  the  tide  of  applause  which  congratulated  the  boat's 
only  baronet,  I  rose.  I  felt  that  I  was  on  the  crest  of  the 
wave;  for  the  ancient  religion  of  Egypt  appeals  to  me;  and 
as  I  now  had  reason  to  hope  that  others  were  comfortably 
ignorant  of  my  subject  I  could  spread  myself  as  much  as 
I  pleased. 

"The  Ancient  Egyptians  were  far  from  being  fools,"  I 
answered  Sir  John  with  the  air  of  being  in  their  confidence. 
"We  who  are  tempted  to  think  so,  don't  take  the  trouble 
to  try  the  key  of  their  Faith  in  its  door.  I  might  say  that 
its  door  was  the  door  of  the  Tomb.  If  we  go  through  that 
door  into  the  Kingdom  of  Osiris,  Amenti,  which  the  Greeks 
renamed  Hades,  the  mysteries  which  appear  tangled  sort 
themselves  graciously  out.  The  story  of  Isis  the  Great 
Enchantress,  and  her  search  for  the  body  of  her  husband 
Osiris,  murdered  by  Set,  his  wicked  and  jealous  brother, 
Spirit  of  Evil,  is  perhaps  the  most  lovable  legend  of  the 
world.  But  in  hearing  that  Horus,  the  son  of  Isis,  was 
really  the  same  god  as  Osiris,  modern  ideas  begin  to  get 
mixed,  and  confuse  themselves  over  Isis,  goddess  of  love 
and  goodness,  cow-headed  Hathor,  mistress  of  love  and 
joy,  cat-headed  Pasht  and  lioness-headed  Sekhet,  god- 
desses of  love  and  passion.  There's  hawk-headed  Horus, 


116  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

the  youth,  too;  and  Horus  the  child,  represented  in 
statues  with  his  thumb  in  his  mouth.  How  is  one  to 
make  sense  of  them  all?  But  once  you  have  the  key,  it  is 
easy  and  even  beautiful.  The  esoteric  or  secret  religion 
known  to  the  high  priests  and  the  instructed  ones  was 
different  from  the  animal-worship  and  adoration  of  bird- 
headed  deities,  which  gave  the  common  people  such 
interest  in  daily  life.  They  would  have  been  lost  without 
their  monsters ;  and  the  priests  would  have  been  lost  with- 
out the  temples  necessary  for  the  worship  of  such  a  men- 
agerie. For  Egypt  was  a  priest-ridden  country  in  old  days. 
The  explanation  of  the  many  gods  and  goddesses  was  this : 
each  was  a  different  phase  of  the  one  God,  Ha,  the  Sun,  by 
whom  and  through  whom  only  the  world  could  exist. 
Animals  and  birds  were  chosen  to  express  the  different 
phases,  because  animals  were  considered  to  be  nearer 
nature,  therefore  nearer  God  than  human  beings;  besides, 
to  give  a  god  the  head  of  a  man  would  not  set  him  apart 
from  humanity,  as  it  would  to  make  him  appear  with  the 
body  of  a  man  and  the  head  of  some  bird  or  beast.  Horus, 
finished  off  with  the  head  of  a  hawk  (that  sacred  bird  who 
could  look  the  sun  in  the  face) ,  became  to  the  uneducated 
eye  a  supernatural  being,  which  he  would  not  have  been 
with  the  face  of  a  smiling  youth.  The  child  Horus,  or 
Harpocrates,  was  not  respected  as  was  Horus  of  the 
Hawk  Head.  He  was  merely  petted  and  loved.  Even 
Set,  god  of  evil,  wasn't  all  bad.  He  was  the  Spirit  of 
Storm  and  Strife  in  Nature,  and  had  to  be  propitiated 
by  the  ignorant.  Typhon,  or  Typhoon,  and  he  were  one. 
Red  was  his  colour,  and  red-haired  people  were  his 
children. 


FOXY  DUFFING  117 

"There  were  a  hundred  phases  of  the  one  god,  each  made 
incarnate,  given  his  own  mission,  and  worshipped  in  a 
different  place.  It's  an  ill  wind  (of  Set)  that  blows  no- 
body good,  and  animals  had  a  gorgeous  time  in  those  days. 
Very  few  weren't  sacred  for  some  reason  or  other.  It  was 
death  and  destruction  to  kill  a  cat.  And  I  don't  think 
that  cats  have  forgotten  to  this  day  the  importance  they 
had  in  Egypt.  It's  made  them  the  most  supercilious  of 
animals. 

"If  Amon-Ra  were  angry  he  could  become  Menthu, 
the  war  god.  If  he  were  inclined  to  be  gentle,  he  could 
shrink  to  the  dimensions  of  Horus,  child-god  of  the 
Rising  Sun.  If  he  were  weary,  he  could  rest  as  the  old 
god  Turn,  of  the  Setting  Sun.  Probably  gods  and 
goddesses  never  enjoyed  themselves  so  much  as  in  Ancient 
Egypt;  and  though  it  does  seem  a  drawback  from  our 
artistic  point  of  view  for  Hathor  to  have  the  head  or  ears 
of  a  cow,  for  wise  Thoth  to  have  the  long  beak  of  an  ibis, 
and  so  on,  it  was  for  them  only  an  amusing  kind  of  mas- 
querade or  '  tete '  party,  on  the  walls  of  the  temples  and 
tombs.  At  home,  they  could  be  what  they  liked.  Think 
how  interesting  for  the  Egyptians  to  have  all  these  queer 
gods,  and  what  variety  it  gave  to  their  lives.  Perhaps 
the  priests  really  meant  well  in  keeping  the  secret  of  the 
One  God  for  themselves  and  the  kings,  as  the  people 
weren't  fitted  to  bear  its  solemnity.  Fancy  how  amusing 
it  was  for  the  children  to  be  told,  on  silver-bright  nights, 
about  Khonsu,  god  of  the  moon,  always  young,  wearing 
the  curled  lock  of  youth  on  his  brow  —  who  staked 
five  nights  of  his  light  playing  draughts  with  Thoth,  father 
of  Magic.  But  he  had  a  more  serious  phase,  for  when  he 


118  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

was  not  a  gambler  he  was  an  Expeller  of  Demons,  a 
most  popular  accomplishment.  Indeed,  almost  every 
god  had  several  thriving  businesses,  conducted  under 
different  aliases.  Khnum  the  Creator,  dweller  at  the 
Cataracts,  is  my  favourite,  and  is  still  busy,  as  he  looks 
after  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  river.  Hekt,  goddess  of  birth, 
was  a  pal  of  his,  in  spite  of  her  appalling  ugliness;  and  she 
used  to  kneel  by  his  potter's  wheel.  While  he  fashioned 
the  clay  she  would  hold  the  Sign  of  Life,  so  that  spirit 
might  enter  into  the  formed  body  when  Khnum  got  it  to 
the  right  state.  For  very  important  babies,  royal  ones  or 
geniuses,  she  held  a  Sign  of  Life  in  each  hand,  which  made 
them  extraordinarily  vital.  When  you  arrive  in  Egypt, 
the  first  thing  you'll  be  asked  to  buy  will  be  the  Sign,  or 
Key  of  Life,  in  the  shape  of  paper  knives  or  brooches  or 
what  not,  and  it  will  be  pointed  out  to  you  in  tombs  till 
you're  tired  and  sick  of  it.  You  can  buy  Hekt,  too,  and 
funny  old  Bes,  nurse-goddess  of  children,  quite  the  golli- 
wog of  her  day;  and  all  the  other  gods  and  goddesses  will 
be  offered  to  you,  to  say  nothing  of  the  kings  who  were 
entitled  to  worship  themselves  as  gods  if  they  wanted 
to. 

"It's  easy,  you  see,  to  make  fun  of  the  ancient  religion, 
and  other  nations  did  make  fun  of  it.  But  to  be  serious, 
the  priests  were  nearer  right  than  it  would  seem;  for  they 
believed  that  God  was  All :  that  there  was  nothing  in  this 
or  any  Universe  which  was  not  part  of  God." 

That  note  was  my  highest,  and  I  stopped  on  it. 
Besides,  I  could  think  of  nothing  more  to  say.  I  ven- 
tured to  sit  down;  and  because  the  people  were  glad 
to  hear  the  last  of  me,  or  because  I  had  helped  them 


FOXY  DUFFING  119 

finish  their  almonds  and  raisins,  they  applauded.  Secretly 
I  shook  hands  with  myself,  as  the  monkey  must  have 
done,  when,  with  the  eatspaw,  he  had  pulled  the  hot 
chestnuts  out  of  the  fire.  I  had  carefully  selected  my 
chestnuts  —  and  waited  till  they  were  cool.  Also,  I  had 
disappointed  Colonel  Corkran. 


IX 

WHAT  HAPPENED  WHEN  MY  BACK  WAS 
TURNED 

THREE  letters  for  me,  brought  out  by  the  pilot!  One  I 
had  expected  from  Anthony ;  but  my  heart  gave  a  bound  as 
I  recognized  Brigit's  handwriting,  not  seen  for  years;  and 
instinct  told  me  that  the  third  was  from  Monny  Gilder. 
My  one  thought  for  the  last  two  days,  steaming  back 
from  the  Piraeus  to  Alexandria,  had  been  that  I  was 
drawing  nearer  to  Cairo,  and  to  those  whose  doings  in 
my  absence  pulled  at  my  curiosity  and  keyed  my  in- 
terest to  breaking  point.  But  if  you  think  that  I 
tore  open  those  envelopes  and  greedily  absorbed  their 
contents  the  moment  they  were  put  into  my  hands,  you 
have  never  been  a  conductor  or  even  an  observant  pas- 
senger on  a  "pleasure  yacht."  Wlien  the  letters  arrived 
I  was  engaged  in  persuading  breakfast-lingerers  (they 
of  the  eggs-and-bacon  habit,  who  ought  never  to  leave 
their  peaceful  English  homes)  that  it  would  give  them 
more  real  pleasure  to  be  first  in  the  shore  boats  than  last 
at  the  table.  Then  to  get  them  into  the  boats;  then  to 
hypnotize  Lady  Biddell  and  Mrs.  Harlow  into  the  belief 
that  they  would  not,  could  not,  be  seasick  on  the  dancing 
waves  which  bobbed  us  up  and  down.  No  time  to  think 
of  the  letters;  much  less  to  feel  the  strangeness  of  fate 

120 


WHEN  MY  BACK  WAS  TURNED          121 

which  brought  me  back  in  such  queer  circumstances  to  the 
port  I  had  entered  on  the  Laconia  eight  days  ago. 

"As  soon  as  we  get  on  shore,"  I  soothed  my  gnawing 
impatience,  "I'll  steal  a  minute  somehow."  But  each 
moment  was  so  conspicuously  labelled  that  I  could  not 
be  a  thief  of  time  —  my  time,  which  was  my  charges' 
time,  bought  and  paid  for  by  Sir  Marcus  Lark. 

This  was  not  the  first  occasion  on  which  I'd  heard  the 
clanking  of  my  chains,  for,  although  I  flattered  myself 
that  I  was  a  popular  success,  popularity  had  penalties. 
On  the  night  of  the  lecture  I  had  used  the  passengers. 
Since  then  they  had  used  me.  Old  ladies  appealed  to 
me  on  questions  of  etiquette,  health  or  religion,  and 
retailed  my  answers,  not  always  correctly.  Girls  asked 
my  advice  about  keeping  up  flirtations,  and  men  wanted 
my  help  in  getting  out  of  them.  I  was  expected  to  spout 
pages  of  Strabo  or  Pliny  at  an  instant's  notice;  I  must 
know  why  Plato  went  to  Egypt,  or  how  long  he  stayed; 
and  be  umpire  between  American  and  British  bridge- 
players.  I  must  be  able  to  explain  the  true  meaning 
and  age  of  the  Sphinx;  invent  new  deck  games;  and  show 
those  who  hadn't  learned,  how  to  dance  the  Tango. 
But  with  those  three  letters  burning  over  my  heart 
the  duties  of  conductor  became  infuriating. 

It  was  an  awful  day;  for  what  was  Pompey's  Pillar 
to  me  while  I  remained  ignorant  of  my  friends'  adventures? 
As  I  discoursed  (more  or  less)  learnedly  about  Diocletian, 
and  Ptolemy's  plot  to  drown  Pompey  in  the  Nile,  some- 
thing inside  was  asking,  "Has  Anthony  fallen  in  love  with 
Monny  Gilder?"  "What  scrapes  has  that  blessed  girl 
got  into?"  "Has  anything  happened  to  worry  Biddy?" 


122  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Even  that  nameless  but  incomparable  tomb  on  the 
hill  of  Kom  esh-Shukafa  could  not  distract  my  thoughts 
from  the  sealed  envelopes;  and  three  very  modern  hand- 
writings came  obstinately  between  my  eyes  and  the 
matchless  wall-paintings  —  paintings  as  fresh  in  their 
underground  hiding-place  as  if  finished  yesterday  instead 
of  in  days  when  it  was  dowdy  to  be  pagan,  fashionable 
to  be  Christian. 

Corkran,  as  a  soldier,  had  to  guide  a  band  to  Aboukir, 
and  chat  about  Nelson;  point  out  the  medieval  fort  of 
Kait  Bey,  and  dash  with  hired  motors  to  Adjemi,  where 
Napoleon  landed.  Kruger  took  a  few  studious  pilgrims 
to  that  unspoiled  Oriental  Nile  town  where  the  Rosetta 
Stone  gave  the  secrets  of  Ancient  Egypt  to  the  world.  It 
was  mine  to  pilot  the  "  frivolous  lot" ;  to  escort  them  in  car- 
riages round  the  Italian-looking  city  when  they  had 
absorbed  its  two  chief  sights;  to  give  them  a  glimpse  of 
the  Museum,  and  to  let  them  see  the  beauty  and  fashion 
of  Alexandria  driving  out  to  San  Stefano  in  the  late 
afternoon.  Still  I  had  no  chance  to  read  my  letters;  but, 
thought  I  at  the  hotel,  "Now  at  last,  it  has  come!"  Not 
at  all!  People's  trunks  were  missing,  or  in  the  wrong 
rooms.  It  was  I  who  had  to  sooth  alarms,  and  calm 
rising  storms.  It  was  I  who  must  assure  Mrs.  Harlow 
that  her  room  was  really  preferable  to  that  of  Lady  Biddell; 
and  Lady  Biddell  that  she,  and  not  Miss  Hassett-Bean, 
had  the  best  in  the  hotel.  Still,  I  had  ten  minutes  to 
dress  for  dinner.  Like  Mr.  Gladstone,  I  could  do  it  in 
five,  and  have  five  left  for  my  letters.  But  hardly  had 
I  slipped  a  paper  knife  under  the  flap  of  Monny's  envelope 
(I  should  have  felt  a  vandal  to  tear  it)  when  one  of  the 


WHEN  MY  BACK  WAS  TURNED          123 

hotel  managers  knocked  at  my  door.  A  gentleman 
was  being  very  angry  in  the  dining-room.  He  insisted 
on  seeing  me.  He  said  he  had  been  Lord  Mayor  of 
London,  and  ought  to  have  a  window-table.  All  these 
were  previously  engaged.  What  was  to  be  done?  Would 
I  kindly  come  at  once? 

I  persuaded  Sir  John  that  window-tables  were  the  least 
desirable,  owing  to  draughts,  and  returning  to  my  roomv 
had  four  minutes  to  dress  or  risk  further  rows.  After  din- 
ner Miss  Hassett-Bean  burst  into  tears  because  she  was 
alone  in  the  world  owing  to  the  marmoset's  death  from 
seasickness;  and  now  that  she  was  growing  old  nobody 
cared  to  talk  to  her.  I  argued  that  people  were  shy  be- 
cause she  was  more  important  than  they,  and  had  a  rep- 
utation for  satire.  It  took  half  an  hour  for  the  lady's 
nose  to  go  from  red  to  pink  (I  think  she  had  papier 
poudre  in  her  handkerchief);  and  then  I  was  obliged  to 
walk  on  the  beach  with  Miss  Enid  Biddell  to  keep  Mr. 
Watts  from  proposing.  As  Snell  relieved  me  from  sentry 
duty,  I  was  called  by  Kruger  to  discuss  certain  details  of 
next  morning's  start  for  Cairo;  and  at  midnight,  when  I 
crawled  to  my  room  a  shattered  wreck,  the  letters  were 
still  unread. 

"I'm  incapable  of  caring  now,"  I  groaned,  "what 
has  happened  to  any  of  them.  If  an  earthquake  has 
swallowed  up  our  mountain,  and  Anthony's  married 
Monny,  and  Brigit's  been  abducted,  or  vice  versa,  and 
Miss  Guest  has  gone  off  with  the  jewels,  it  will  leave  me 
calm." 

That  was  the  spirit  in  which  I  tossed  up  a  coin  to 
see  which  letter  to  read  first.  Heads,  Monny 's;  tails, 


124  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Anthony's;  but  the  penny  rolled  away,  far  under  the  bed 
where  collar-buttons  go,  and  so  —  I  opened  Biddy's.  She 
began : 

MY  DEAR  GOOD  Dt7FFER: 

For  any  sake  hurry  back.  Make  an  excuse  to  leave  your 
pilgrims  the  minute  you  get  this,  and  take  the  first  train  to 
Cairo.  Surely  the  late  conductor  can  be  your  understudy, 
and  trot  the  people  round  Alexandria  for  a  day?  We  need  you 
more  than  they  do.  I  picture  you  reading  this  early  in  the 
morning,  with  Alexandria  still  hi  the  distance;  for  you  said 
you'd  arrange  to  have  letters  come  out  to  the  yacht  by  the  pilot. 
I  shall  expect  a  telegram  saying  by  what  train  you'll  arrive 
here  in  the  afternoon.  You'll  understand  when  I've  told  you 
everything,  why  it's  necessary  for  you  to  hurry. 

We  have  done  and  seen  so  many  things,  it  seems  years  instead 
of  days  since  you  left  us  in  care  of  that  handsome  Hadji  of 
yours.  I  wonder  if  really  you  didn't  suspect  that  I  guessed 
who  he  was;  or  did  you  suspect;  and  didn't  care?  I  caught 
the  look  hi  your  eyes,  when  you  first  saw  him  standing  under  the 
terrace  at  Shepheard's,  and  then,  when  the  name  "Antoun 
Effendi"  came  up  in  the  conversation,  I  put  two  and  two  to- 
gether. Mrs.  East  guesses,  also.  I  don't  know  if  she  did  from 
the  first,  but  she  does  now.  It  isn't  a  question  of  "  guessing  M 
with  either  of  us,  really.  It's  a  certainty.  Not  that  she's  said 
anything  to  me  or  I  to  her.  That  is  the  malady  of  us  all  since 
you  went.  We  are  boiling  with  secret  thoughts,  and  keeping 
them  to  ourselves,  which  is  bad  for  us  and  for  each  other  in  the 
long  run.  I  haven't  told  Monny  that  the  "Egyptian  Prince," 
as  Rachel  Guest  has  nicknamed  him,  is  your  friend  Captain 
Anthony  Fenton  playing  some  deep  game,  partly  connected 
with  us,  partly  connected  with  a  secret  of  his  and  yours;  the 
secret  you  said  was  a  "dusty"  one  in  which  women  would  not 
be  interested.  I  haven't  told  her,  because  I  don't  want  her  to 
know.  She  is  always  talking  and  thinking  about  him,  and  is 
vexed  with  herself  for  doing  so.  She  tries  to  stop,  but  can't. 


WHEN  MY  BACK  WAS  TURNED          125 

If  she  knew  who  he  was,  she  wouldn't  try  to  stop.  She'd  let 
herself  go,  and  feel  she  was  living  in  a  beautiful  romance.  So 
she  is  living  in  a  romance,  but  I  want  you  to  be  the  hero  of 
it,  not  your  Anthony  Fenton.  That's  why  I  don't  open  her 
eyes  to  the  game  that's  going  on.  The  man  is  a  perfect  devil. 
Not  a  bad  devil,  but  a  wild  devil. 

Mrs.  East  doesn't  tell  Monny  that  Antoun  is  "Anthony  with 
an  h"  because  she  is  enjoying  the  thought  that  she  alone  knows 
the  wonderful  truth.  She  imagines  that  she  is  in  love  with  him. 
She  believes  Fate  has  brought  them  together  —  that  he  is  a 
"reincarnation,"  as  she  is,  and  that  they  ought  to  belong  to  each 
other.  Well,  let  them!  She  isn't  more  than  six  or  seven  years 
older  than  he,  and  she's  rich  (though  poor  compared  to  Monny, 
of  course),  and  every  day  she  grows  handsomer.  So  does  Monny. 
As  for  Rachel  Guest  —  but  she  is  in  another  part  of  my  story. 
Yet  no,  come  to  think  of  it,  I'll  bring  her  in  now,  because  if  it 
weren't  for  developments  concerning  that  young  woman,  I 
might  be  able  to  wait  one  more  day  without  begging  you  to  come 
to  us.  She  is  taking  Monny  away  from  me;  and  something  odd 
is  going  on,  I  can't  make  out  what.  Anyhow,  that  horrid  Bedr 
el  Gemaly  is  in  it.  And  there's  to  be  a  climax,  I'm  sure,  to- 
morrow night.  You'll  get  this  letter  to-morrow  morning,  for 
I'm  writing  it  early,  with  my  hair  down  my  back,  and  my  coffee 
not  ordered,  though  I'm  starving.  We've  left  Shepheard's  be- 
cause Monny  wanted  to  live  for  a  few  days  in  a  hotel  close  to  the 
Nile;  and  we  were  all  pleased  with  the  plan,  for  this  was  once  a 
palace  of  Khedive  Ismael,  and  his  furniture's  still  in  it,  the  wild- 
est mixture  of  Orientalized  French  taste.  There's  a  garden,  with 
paths  of  vermilion  sand  brought  from  somewhere  in  the  desert. 
But  the  most  convulsive  things  live  along  the  Nile  Valley  and 
spend  their  nights  braying,  hooting,  cooing,  whining,  bellowing, 
and  barking.  If  only  the  donkeys  and  dogs  and  birds  and  a  few 
other  sacred  animals  of  Egypt  would  be  a  little  more  reticen^ 
expecially  after  dark,  the  country  would  be  faultless.  But  what 
with  worrying  myself,  and  listening  to  furred  and  feathered 
creatures  worrying  themselves,  I  couldn't  sleep  last  night,  and  I 
want  you  to  help  me!  You'll  be  here  to-morrow  afternoon,  and 


126  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

I  shall  stay  in  to  receive  you  instead  of  going  to  the  bazaars 
with  the  others,  chaperoned  by  that  dark-eyed  devil  of  yours, 
"Antoun."  I  was  there  all  yesterday,  watching  crowds  of 
tourists  buy  beautiful  expensive  things  for  themselves,  and 
horrid  inexpensive  things  to  take  to  their  friends.  Cleopatra  pur- 
chased some  disgracefully  cheap  pearls  no  self-respecting  mummy 
would  be  seen  in;  and  my  prophetic  soul  tells  me  that  she's  going 
to  try  and  dissolve  them  in  wine. 

There's  to  be  a  fancy  dress  ball  at  this  hotel  to-morrow  night — 
or  rather  in  the  adjacent  Casino,  which  is  one  reason  we  migrated 
here;  and  praise  the  saints  you'll  be  in  time  for  it  because  if 
anything's  going  to  happen,  you'll  be  able  to  stop  whatever  it  is. 
If  I  were  supposed  to  know  that  Antoun  was  Anthony  Fenton,  I 
might  take  him  into  my  counsels.  As  it  is,  I  can't.  And  any- 
how, it  wouldn't  do  much  good,  at  present,  because  a  silent  duel 
is  going  on  between  him  and  Monny.  He  is  bent  on  compelling 
her  to  acknowledge  his  authority.  She  is  bent  on  resisting  it  — 
which  is  a  great  compliment  to  his  power  —  but  he  doesn't  know 
that,  for  he  doesn't  know  Monny  yet.  It  would  be  fun  to  watch 
them  together,  if  I  hadn't  your  interests  to  think  of. 

He  hasn't  got  rid  of  Bedr  el  Gemaly;  but  he  would  have  done 
so,  I'm  sure,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  an  unexpected  turn  of  the  wheel, 
by  the  hand  of  Fate  in  the  person  of  Rachel  Guest.  Her  hand 
is  never  off  the  wheel  just  now!  The  few  days  since  you  have 
been  away  have  brought  out  the  true  inwardness  of  her.  Fells 
Domestica  with  very  little  Domestica!  Perhaps  it's  the  air  of 
Egypt  which  is  having  a  really  extraordinary  effect  on  all  of 
us;  perhaps  it's  the  fact  that  Monny  has  given  Rachel  a  lot 
of  lovely  clothes  which  have  rejuvenated  and  apparently  re- 
vitalized her.  But  you  will  see  for  yourself,  and  talk  things  over 
with  Your  old  friend, 

BIDDY. 

This  was  a  nice  letter  to  read,  heaven  knew  how  many 
hours  too  late! 

My  fatigue  had  slipped  off  like  the  skin  off  a  grape. 


WHEN  MY  BACK  WAS  TURNED          127 

I  felt  energetic  enough  to  start  out  and  walk  to  Cairo. 
What  could  be  in  Biddy's  mind?  And  what  must  she  have 
thought  when  afternoon  and  evening  passed  without 
even  a  telegram?  The  evening  paper,  if  she  had  happened 
to  look,  would  have  told  her  that  the  Candace  had  reached 
Alexandria  in  the  morning,  as  she  expected;  and  she  could 
neither  have  guessed  nor  believed  that  the  whole  day 
would  pass  without  my  having  a  chance  to  read  her  letter. 
I  ransacked  the  writing-table  drawers  for  a  telegraph  form; 
and  finding  one  had  begun  to  address  it,  when  I  stopped. 
The  message  could  not  go  out  until  morning.  Meanwhile 
there  were  Monny's  and  Anthony's  letters  to  read.  One 
or  both  might  give  me  some  clue  to  the  "climax"  Biddy 
feared  for  to-night  at  the  ball.  I  cut  open  Monny's 
envelope,  which  had  on  it  an  alluring  sunset  picture  of  the 
Pyramids  and  the  name  of  the  hotel.  Hastily  I  ran 
through  the  pages.  Not  a  hint  of  anything  disquieting! 
If  I  had  read  her  letter  instead  of  Brigit's  I  might  have 
gone  to  my  well-earned  rest  without  a  qualm. 

"Dear  Lord  Ernest,"  Miss  Gilder  addressed  me,  in  a 
handwriting  which  to  any  "expert"  would  reveal  some 
originality,  more  pride,  still  more  conscientiousness,  any 
amount  of  self-will,  and  singularly  little  conceit.  An  odd 
combination !  But  the  Gilded  Rose  is  that.  She  went  on : 

You  asked  me  to  write  to  you  while  you  were  away,  and  tell 
you  the  news,  and  what  I  thought  about  things.  But  I'm  think- 
ing so  much  and  so  fast  that  I  can't  sort  out  my  thoughts.  I 
suppose  it  must  be  so  with  every  one  who  comes  to  Egypt  for  the 
first  time.  Everything  fascinates  and  absorbs  me,  even  more 
than  I  had  hoped  it  would  —  almost  too  much,  I  feel  sometimes. 
Your  Antoun  Effendi  is  a  very  good  guide,  and  I  am  not  sorry 
that  we  have  him  —  except  once  in  a  while.  And  now  and  then 


128  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

I'm  glad.  We're  proud  of  his  looks  when  we  go  about,  for  every 
one  stares  at  him  and  envies  us  for  having  him  to  take  us  about, 
instead  of  being  condemned  to  a  mere  dragoman.  Oh,  talking 
of  dragomen  (you  see  I  will  call  them  that!),  we  still  have  Bedr, 
though  I  know  you  thought  we  ought  to  give  him  up,  and  I 
don't  see  how  we  are  ever  to  discharge  him  now,  for  he  has 
attached  himself  to  Rachel  G.  in  the  most  wonderful  way.  It  is 
pathetic.  It  began  with  a  talk  they  had  the  day  you  left,  about 
his  having  been  hi  America,  and  about  religion.  She  found  him 
half  inclined  to  be  converted,  and  of  course,  her  goodness  and 
unselfishness  made  her  long  to  snatch  him  like  a  brand  from 
the  burning.  He  thinks  no  one  ever  talked  so  wonderfully 
about  religion  as  she  does,  which  she,  dear  thing,  attributes 
to  the  fact  that  she  taught  Sunday-school  in  Salem.  She  says, 
if }  she  can  have  him  to  work  upon  even  for  a  few  weeks,  she 
is  sure  to  make  him  a  convert. 

We  haven't  wasted  a  minute  since  you  went  away,  but  have 
seen  sights  from  morning  till  night,  so  as  not  to  have  missed 
anything  when  we  leave  Cairo  on  the  Enchantress  Isis.  I  hope 
you'll  be  pleased  that  I've  given  up  my  dream  of  having  a  private 
dahabeah,  and  that  we  shall  be  with  you  on  Sir  Marcus  Lark's 
boat.  She  is  really  a  beauty.  Antoun  took  us  over  her,  and 
on  board  we  met  Sir  Marcus,  who  was  showing  some  friends 
round.  Antoun  introduced  him  to  us.  I  think  Sir  M.  asked 
him  to  do  it.  We  had  great  fun,  for  Sir  Marcus  seemed  to 
take  the  most  violent  fancy  to  Aunt  Clara,  who  didn't  like 
him  at  all.  She  says  now  that  she  believes  when  she  was 
Cleopatra  he  was  Ca?sar,  and  thatit's  a  pity  he  can't  wear  a  wreath 
to  hide  his  baldness,  as  she  remembers  his  doing  then.  It's  only  a 
very  little  bald  spot,  really,  and  Rachel  Guest  says  it  reminds  her 
of  a  tonsure  on  the  head  of  a  fine-looking  monk.  Aunt  C.  quite 
resents  Sir  Marcus  being  able  to  engage  the  services  of  you  and 
Antoun.  She  wants  you  both  to  be  there,  but  she  doesn't  like 
Sir  M.  to  have  a  superior  position  to  Antoun's.  That  day  on  the 
Enchantress  Isis  Sir  M.  invited  us  to  have  tea  on  the  deck,  and 
it  really  was  enchanting;  a  deck  like  a  huge  open-air  drawing- 
room,  or  one  of  our  biggest  verandas  at  Newport,  or  somewhere, 


WHEN  MY  BACK  WAS  TURNED          129 

with  jolly  green  wicker  chairs  and  tables  and  sofas  with  heaps  of 
cushions.  But  I  forgot  —  you've  seen  the  boat.  The  best 
rooms  were  engaged,  but  when  we  talked  to  Sir  Marcus,  he  called 
a  man  who  can  speak  many  languages  in  bits  —  broken  English, 
cracked  German,  fractured  French,  and  goodness  knows  what 
all.  Between  them,  they  arranged  it  somehow  that  we  should 
have  our  choice,  and  the  other  people  were  to  take  what  was 
left.  I  would  have  refused,  because  it  didn't  seem  fair,  but  it  was 
for  Aunt  Clara's  sake,  evidently,  that  Sir  M.  wanted  to  make  the 
exchange,  and  she  accepted.  She  was  as  haughty  as  a  queen,  but 
in  rather  a  fascinating,  soft  way  that  I  think  men  like.  And  she 
was  looking  beautiful.  So  is  Rachel,  as  even  Biddy  admits.  I 
do  believe  Rachel  looks  younger  than  I  do,  in  some  new  dresses 
and  hats  she  has.  I  never  noticed  before,  but  I  fancy  now  that 
we're  rather  alike.  I'm  so  delighted  to  see  her  enjoying  herself 
so  much,  for  you  know,  she's  wonderful.  Think  what  courage  it 
must  have  taken  to  break  with  her  tiresome  old  life,  because  she 
felt  she  must  see  the  glory  of  the  world,  when  a  tiny  legacy 
gave  her  the  chance  she'd  longed  for.  She  wouldn't  have  had  a 
penny  left,  after  she'd  finished  her  trip,  if  Aunt  C.  and  I  hadn't 
been  able  to  help  her  out.  It's  a  privilege  to  do  anything  for 
such  a  brave  creature.  And  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  her  having 
to  go  back  when  this  is  over,  to  the  dull  round.  Perhaps  some 
way  out  will  be  found  for  her. 

I've  fallen  in  love  with  Cairo,  although  —  or  perhaps  because 
— I  still  feel  as  if  1  were  moving  in  a  marvellous  picture.  Antoun 
does  make  it  live  for  us!  I  will  say  that  for  him,  though  he 
can  be  so  annoying  that  at  times  he  spoils  everything,  and 
makes  me  wish  you'd  won  my  hat  instead  of  my  winning  his 
green  turban.  I'm  dying  to  find  out  how  you  got  it.  But,  of 
course,  I  can't  ask  him:  it  would  be  infra  dig.  You  must  tell 
me  when  you  come.  I  think  the  one  he  wears  now  is  handsomer 
though.  I  wish  I  could  change  it  for  mine. 

We  have  been  to  heaps  of  mosques,  and  I  can't  help  wishing 
we  were  the  only  tourists  in  Cairo.  Of  course,  this  is  a  selfish 
wish;  and  as  dear  Biddy  says,  it's  quite  funny  to  think  how 
each  tourist  feels  that  he  is  the  only  spiritual-minded,  imagina- 


130  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

tive  person  travelling  —  that  he  alone  has  the  right  to  be  in 
Egypt  —  that  all  the  others  are  offensive,  vulgar  creatures,  who 
desecrate  the  beautiful  places  with  their  presence.  But  really, 
you  know,  it  gets  on  one's  nerves,  meeting  droves  of  silly  men 
in  pith  helmets  with  little  white  lambrequins  looped  up,  when 
it  would  be  so  much  more  appropriate  to  wear  the  kind  of 
hats  they  have  at  home.  And  some  of  the  women  are  weird! 
They  have  the  queerest  ideas  of  what  is  suitable  for  Egypt. 
One  friend  of  Bedr's  refused  to  go  about  and  be  seen  with 
the  ladies  who'd  engaged  him,  as  he  was  the  smartest  dragoman 
in  Cairo  and  had  his  reputation  to  keep  up.  Don't  you  like 
that?  Even  Antoun  laughed  —  which  he  hardly  ever  does. 
He's  so  dignified  I  wish  his  turban  would  blow  off  or  something. 
I  wonder  how  he'd  look  without  k,  and  if  most  of  the  charm 
would  be  gone?  Almost,  I  hope  so.  One  doesn't  like  to 
catch  one's  self  feeling  toward  an  Egyptian,  even  for  a  minute, 
as  one  does  toward  men  of  one's  own  blood —  I  mean,  on  the 
same  level,  or  even  as  if  a  person  like  that  were  above  one. 
It's  just  the  picturesque  dignity  of  the  costume,  and  the  pose, 
perhaps.  And  then,  this  strange  glamour  of  the  East  is  over 
everybody  and  everything,  here.  I  used  to  wonder  why  people 
wrote  and  spoke  of  the  East  as  mysterious.  Why  should  it 
be  more  mysterious  than  the  West?  I  would  ask.  Nobody 
could  explain  exactly.  They  said  only,  "It  is."  Now  I 
know  why  —  at  least  I  feel  why.  Without  his  green  turban,  or  in 
European  coat  instead  of  his  graceful  silk  robe,  and  away  from 
these  luminous  sunsets  of  pale  rose  and  gold  and  emerald,  Antoun 
would  be  nothing  extraordinary,  would  he?  He  says  he  is  con- 
sidered old  fashioned  in  his  way  of  dress.  Most  of  his  friends 
wear  European  clothes,  and  the  tarboosh  which  Egyptians  love 
because  it  never  blows  away  or  falls  off  when  they  pray.  He 
does  make  me  angry,  because  he  wants  to  banish  the  beggars  and 
poor  men  who  sell  things  in  the  street,  instead  of  letting  me  give 
and  buy.  What  am  I/or,  with  all  my  money,  except  to  do  things 
for  people?  And  it's  such  fun  making  them  happy  by  saying  "I 
want  a  cat-necklace — "  or  a  scarab,  or  whatever  they  have, 
instead  of  pushing  past  with  a  stony  glare  as  if  they  were  dust 


WHEN  MY  BACK  WAS  TURNED          131 

under  our  feet.  Of  course  we're  attended  by  great  crowds  where- 
ever  we  go,  because  it's  got  round  that  we  don't  refuse  any  one, 
consequently  it  takes  a  little  long  to  arrive  anywhere.  But  what 
does  that  matter  in  Egypt?  Already  I'm  losing  my  American 
hustle.  I  want  to  eat  lotuses,  which  seem  out  of  season  in 
Egypt  now!  I've  asked  for  them  everywhere  but  can't  get 
them.  I  want  to  fee1  back  in  the  Middle  Ages,  in  Cairo,  which, 
as  Antoun  says,  is  an  Oriental  and  Medieval  Gateway  to  the 
Egypt  older  than  history.  And  how  I  am  looking  forward 
to  the  Desert!  Sir  Marcus  tells  us  that  you  are  to  take  the 
people  of  the  Candace  for  a  desert  trip  before  they  go  up 
the  Nile;  so  of  course  you  must  count  us  among  your  "trip- 
pers," and  Mr.  Willis  and  Mr.  Sheridan,  who  have  settled  to 
go  on  the  Isis.  You  didn't  mention  the  desert  plan  before 
you  went  away ! 

No  news  of  that  poor,  beautiful  child,  Wretched  Bey's  wife 
though  I've  written  twice.  I'm  worried  about  her.  Mabel  she 
used  to  be.  Now  she's  Mabella  Hanem!  Biddy  says  you'll 
arrive  for  the  ball  to-morrow  night.  But  somehow  I  don't  feel 
you  will.  I  don't  know  why  you  should.  Men  don't  care  for 
such  things  much.  And  of  course  I  shall  not  dance,  as  I'm  still 
in  half  mourning.  I  shall  only  look  on,  and  then  —  RacheJ  and 
I  have  an  amusing  plan  for  the  end  of  the  evening.  But  even  if 
you  came,  we  couldn't  let  you  into  the  secret,  as  you  would  think 
it  silly. 

Yours  sincerely, 

ROSAMOND  GILDER. 

Mine  "sincerely,  Rosamond  Gilder!"  So  she  ended 
her  letter,  with  youthful  and  characteristic  dignity, 
childishly  unaware,  apparently,  that  there  was  more  to 
read  between  the  lines  than  in  the  lines  themselves. 

Had  I  read  this  Rosamond  letter  first,  the  last  four  or 
five  sentences  would  have  meant  little  for  me.  As  it  was, 
I  would  have  given  a  month  out  of  my  future  for  the  gift 
of  an  astral  body  which  could  go  this  minute  to  the  ball  at 


132  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

the  Ghezireh  Palace.     I  was  lost  in  the  mystery  of  that 
"amusing  plan." 

In  Anthony's  letter  lay  my  last  hope  of  a  clue.  But  in  it 
there  was  none.  He  did  not  even  mention  Monny's  name. 
It  was  all  about  that  "desert  trip"  which,  from  her,  I 
hadn't  taken  seriously.  Sir  Marcus  was  actually  plan- 
ning it.  Kruger  had  written  that  some  of  the  passengers 
were  clamouring  for  a  few  days'  camping,  and  the  idea 
was  to  send  them  off  in  my  care,  after  three  days  in 
Cairo,  while  the  others  remained  in  charge  of  Antoun, 
who  wasn't  yet  ready  to  leave.  Fenton  said: 

Somebody's  trying  to  defeat  rny  scheme  for  getting  the  sheikh's 
tomb  moved.  I  don't  know  who  it  is  yet.  Meanwhile  my  time 
and  my  head  are  so  full,  that  in  the  few  hours  of  the  night  I  put 
aside  for  sleep,  I  dream  queerer  dreams  than  the  visits  of  ghostly 
sheikhs.  Apropos  of  dreams,  do  you  know  by  chance  a  man  who 
answers  this  description:  elderly,  stoutish,  red  face,  gray  hair, 
black  moustache,  pale  eyes  with  sharp  look  in  them.  Sounds 
commonplace,  doesn't  it? 

But  I  have  a  recurring  dream  of  such  a  man,  whose  face  I  never 
saw  elsewhere.  For  the  last  three  nights,  as  soon  as  I  shut  my 
eyes,  he  comes.  He  seems  to  interrupt  some  scene  between  you 
and  Lark,  and  myself,  and  I  see  him  looking  over  Lark's  shoul- 
der. Then  he  turns  quickly  away,  and  tiptoes  off  to  a  very  low, 
closed  door  in  a  deep  recess.  There  he  disappears  into  shadow 

—  and  I  wake  up  with  a  jump,  or  slide  off  into  another  dream 

—  but  generally  this  rouses  me,  for  there's  an  impression  of  some- 
thing stealthy  in  the  shadow  round  the  door.     That  so  ordinary 
a  type  of  person  should  be  in  a  dream.     You'll  laugh  at  my  ask- 
ing if  you've  ever  known  such  a  man,  and  say  that  I'm  back  at 
my  old  tricks  again,  as  a  dreamer  of  dreams.     Never  mind,  I 
scored,  dreaming  of  our  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid  the 
night  before  I  got  your  letter  with  Ferlini's  papers.     I  can't  help 
feeling  that  there  may  be  something  in  dreams  —  in  mine,  any- 


WHEN  MY  BACK  WAS  TURNED          133 

how,  though  I  never  have  any  except  in  Egypt.  This  one  about 
the  red-faced  man  and  the  closed  door  in  the  deep  recess  is  get- 
ting a  bit  on  my  nerves. 

Excited  as  I  was  over  the  patchwork  of  news,  I  laughed 
scornfully  at  Anthony's  dream.  For  the  man  he  described 
might  be  Colonel  CoiKran. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  SECRET  MONNY  KEPT 

CAIRO  at  last !  My  watch  said  that  the  journey  took  only 
three  hours;  but  my  nerves  said  six. 

I  had  telegraphed  Biddy  first  thing  in  the  morning  the 
hour  of  my  arrival  with  the  ' '  Candace  crowd,"  and  I  half 
expected  to  see  her  at  the  big  white  and  red  station,  but 
there  was  no  familiar  form  in  the  throng,  the  gay  throng 
which  excited  my  charges.  Everything  interested  them; 
the  black  face  of  the  Sudanese  engine  driver  who  looked 
down  from  his  huge  British  locomotive,  the  display  of 
English,  French  and  German  literature  mingled  with 
Greek,  Italian,  Arab,  or  Turkish  papers  on  the  bookstall; 
the  ebony  and  copper-coloured  luggage  carriers  who 
seemed  eager  to  take  one  another's  lives,  but  in  reality 
desired  no  more  than  to  snatch  each  other's  jobs,  under  the 
eyes  of  the  uniformed  hotel-porters.  To  me,  the  busy 
place  was  a  desert,  lacking  one  face. 

Even  outside  the  station-yard,  and  in  the  streets  and 
squares  where  silent  camels  looked  their  contempt  of 
electric  trams,  soldiers  in  khaki  uniforms  jostled  Bedouins 
in  khaki  robes,  and  drivers  of  arabeahs  made  the  way  one 
long  procession  of  shrieks,  I  still  glanced  at  passing  car- 
riages in  hopes  of  a  belated  Biddy.  All  in  vain!  And 
destitute  of  news  I  resigned  myself  to  the  task  of  piloting 

134 


THE  SECRET  MONNY  KEPT  135 

the  Set  out  to  Mena  House.  The  moon  would  be  full 
that  night  —  and  it's  "the  thing"  to  be  a  neighbour  of 
the  Sphinx  while  the  moon  "feeds  her  with  honey. " 

The  Flock,  under  the  guidance  of  Mr.  Watts,  had  now 
definitely  parted  from  the  Set,  chieftained  by  me.  They 
went  meekly  off  to  the  cheaper  hotels,  where  they  would 
live  before  boarding  the  Candace  again  for  Palestine,  and 
Colonel  Corkran,  who  was  supposed  to  have  joined  that 
party,  had  announced  that  he  was  "bound  for  a  long  talk 
with  Mark  the  Lark."  Mr.  Watts,  refused  by  Enid  Bid- 
dell  and  separated  from  her,  had  relapsed  into  melan- 
cholia. He  had  ceased  to  brilliantine  his  once  sleek  hair, 
and  dust  and  crumbs  were  allowed  to  collect  in  each  fold 
of  his  clerical  waistcoat.  As  we  of  the  Set  buzzed  richly 
away  in  taxicabs,  I  saw  him  in  a  shabby  arabeah  between 
two  old  ladies,  gazing  wistfully  after  us.  He  was  envying 
me  Enid! 

It  is  a  wonderful  drive  through  Cairo  to  the  Pyramids, 
whether  you  spin  out  there  in  a  motor,  or  trot  on  a  donkey, 
or  lilt  on  a  camel,  squatting  cross-legged  on  a  load  of 
green  bersim.  Past  the  great  swinging  bridge,  and  the 
Island  of  Ghezireh  (the  word  that  in  itself  means  "island  ") 
begins  the  six-mile  dyke,  which  is  the  road  made  by  Ismail 
to  please  the  Empress  Eugenie.  Since  her  visit,  in  the 
days  when  the  Suez  Canal  was  opened,  it  has  pleased  two 
empresses,  and  more  queens  than  I  have  time  to  count. 
Under  the  deep  shade  of  lebbek  trees  it  goes  on  and  on, 
toward  the  Pyramids,  a  dark  cool  avenue,  high  above  cul- 
tivated fields  flooded  by  the  Nile  when  the  river  is  "up." 
The  emerald  waves  of  grain  flow  like  green  water  to  the 
foot  of  the  broad  dyke-road,  and  canals  like  long,  tight- 


136  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

drawn  blue  ribbons  are  threaded  through  it,  their  ends 
lost  to  sight  at  the  shimmering  horizon. 

Even  at  this  noon  hour  when  the  world  should  have  been 
eating  lotuses  or  luncheon,  the  interminable  arbour  was 
crowded  with  strings  of  camels,  forever  going  both  ways, 
into  Cairo  and  out,  one  wondered  why  —  and  there  were 
flocks  of  woolly  brown  sheep,  and  donkeys  drawing  side- 
less  carts  in  which  whole  families  of  veiled  women  and  half- 
naked  children  were  seated  tailor  fashion.  On  we  spun, 
past  the  Zoo,  past  scattered  villas  of  Frenchified,  Oriental 
fashion  which  might  have  been  designed  by  a  confectioner : 
past  azure  lakes  left  by  the  ebbing  Nile,  and  so  into  sud- 
den dazzling  sight  of  three  geometric  mountains  in  a  tawny 
desert  —  two,  monsters  in  size,  and  one  a  baby  trying 
to  catch  up  with  them. 

"Oh!"  everybody  breathed.  For  these  things  were 
beyond  words. 

Then  in  a  moment  more  the  Great  Pyramid  had  grown 
so  big  that  it  loomed  over  us,  and  ate  up  half  the  sky  — 
a  pyre  of  yellow  flame  against  a  flame  of  blue. 

We  were  at  the  end  of  the  shadowy  road  that  leads  like 
a  causeway  to  the  desert,  and  on  the  verge  of  the  golden, 
billowing  sea  which  flows  round  the  Pyramids  and  engulfs 
the  distant  Sphinx.  Oriental  life  encircled  us,  in  the 
foreground  of  the  picture  —  a  long  row  of  waiting  camels 
gaily  saddled  and  tasselled,  delicately  nibbling  bersim 
green  as  heaped  emeralds  —  donkeys  white  and  gray, 
beribboned  and  beaded  —  small  yellow  sandcarts;  little 
white,  desert  horses  and  tall  brown,  desert  men;  camels 
snarling,  donkeys  braying,  horses  whinnying,  and  men 
touting.  "Very  nice  sandcarts  —  very  nice  camels! 


THE  SECRET  MONNY  KEPT  137 

Take  ladies  and  genlemen  quick  to  Pyramids  and  Sphinx 
or  Petrified  Forest!"  Farther  on,  the  big,  modern  hotel, 
rather  like  an  overgrown  Swiss  chalet  built  by  Arabs  — 
a  vast,  confused  building  the  colour  of  sand  or  brown 
heather  honey,  with  carved  mushrbiyeh  work  lending  an 
Eastern  charm  to  windows,  balconies,  and  loggias,  and 
enough  green,  flowery  garden  to  give  a  sensational  effect 
of  contrast  with  the  tidal  wave  of  desert  poised  ready,  it 
would  seem,  to  overwhelm  palms  and  roses.  Clustered 
near,  the  tiny  mushroom  village  which  huddles  under  the 
shelter  of  Cheops'  Pyramid.  Beyond,  the  immense  up- 
ward sweep  of  golden  dunes,  culminating  in  the  Great 
Pyramid  itself. 

I  stayed  in  the  picture  only  long  enough  to  settle  my  big 
children  into  their  quarters,  and  to  see  most  of  them 
making  for  the  dining-room,  agreeably  Oriental  with  its 
white  and  red  walls,  its  dome  and  windows  of  mushrbiyeh 
work.  Then  I  darted  back  to  Cairo,  in  a  taxi  driven  by  a 
Nubian  youth,  so  black  that  he  was  almost  blue,  like  a 
whortleberry.  He  wore  a  scarlet  tarboosh,  a  livery  of 
violet,  and  the  holes  for  silver  rings  in  the  tops  of  his  ears 
were  so  large  that  the  light  shining  through  gave  the  effect 
of  inserted  diamonds.  Unconsciously  he  made  a  nice 
contrast  with  his  modern  motor. 

He  drove  with  such  reckless  speed  that  camels  "  rubber- 
necked "  to  look  at  us  —  and  whirled  me  past  the  fat  black 
gate-keeper  into  the  Ghezireh  Palace  garden  of  scarlet 
paths,  moonlike  lamps,  Khedivial  statues,  and  spreading 
banyans  where  each  tree  continued  itself  in  its  own  "next 
number,"  like  an  endless  serial  romance. 

I  nearly  asked  for  Mrs.  O'Brien,  but  turned  her  into 


138  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Jones  at  the  danger  point.  The  face  of  the  concierge,  as 
he  said  that  she  was  at  home,  conveyed  nothing,  yet  I 
cculd  not  resist  adding,  "Are  the  ladies  well?" 

"Mrs.  East  is  not  very  well  to-day,"  he  replied.  "We 
have  had  the  doctor;  but  the  young  ladies  have  been  out 
spending  the  night  with  friends,  I  believe.  They  have  not 
yet  returned. " 

It  was  a  long  five  minutes  before  Biddy  and  I  were 
wildly  shaking  hands  in  a  huge  private  sitting-room  all 
red-and-gold  brocade  and  crystal  chandeliers,  as  it  had 
been  in  the  days  of  Ismail.  I  knew  I  should  be  delighted 
to  see  her,  but  I  didn't  realize  that  it  was  going  to  be  quite 
as  good  as  it  was. 

"Anyhow,  you're  all  right  and  safe,"  I  heard  myself 
blurt  out. 

"  I'm  safe,  but  not  all  right ! "  she  reproached  me.  "  My 
messenger  who  went  to  the  train  didn't  find  you  from 
my  description,  I  know,  because  he  came  back  with  my 
note " 

"Too  flattering,  was  your  description,  or  the  other 
way?  "  I  asked,  trying  to  buoy  her  up  with  frivolity. 

"You  wouldn't  joke  if  you'd  read  the  note.  Oh, 
Ernest,  Monny  and  Rachel  have  disappeared!" 

"Good  gracious!     But  Anthony " 

"He  went  to  look  for  them,  of  course;  and  he's  dis- 
appeared, too." 

"By  Jove!"  The  exclamation  sounded  inadequate, 
but  I  was  so  taken  aback  that  I  had  nothing  else  to  say. 
It  seemed  impossible  that  Anthony,  instead  of  averting 
danger,  could  be  involved  in  it  himself.  It  was  unlike 
his  resourcefulness.  I  could  not  believe  it  of  him,  and 


THE  SECRET  MONNY  KEPT  139 

so,  when  I  had  time  to  control  mind  and  tongue,  I  said 
as  much  to  Biddy. 

"Yes,  I  felt  like  that,  too,  at  first, "  she  admitted.  "He 
gives  one  the  impression  of  being  so  infallible  in  any 
emergency,  somehow,  as  if  he'd  be  above  it,  and  look  down 
on  it  from  his  height.  But  it's  more  than  twelve  hours 
since  he  went,  and  he  promised  to  send  me  word  how  things 
were  going  on  if  he  couldn't  get  to  me  himself.  No  word 
has  come." 

"What  have  you  done?"  I  asked.  "Have  you  com- 
municated with  the  police?  " 

"Sir  Marcus  Lark  has.  He  was  at  the  ball,  and  has 
been  very  good.  But  it's  for  Mrs.  East's  sake,  mostly. 
One  feels  he's  glad  it  happened,  to  give  him  the  chance  to 
win  her  gratitude  —  or  something.  He's  been  back  and 
forth  all  day;  and  I'm  expecting  him  any  minute.  Mrs. 
East  has  been  fainting  and  hysterical,  and  everything 
early  Edwardian,  so  I  sent  for  a  doctor.  But  she's  better 
on  the  strength  of  sal  volatile  and  eggnog,  and  she's  prom- 
ised to  see  Sir  Marcus." 

"Now  tell  me  what  happened,  from  the  beginning,"  I 
said,  when  I  had  made  Biddy  sit  down  by  me  on  the  sofa, 
and  was  trying  to  warm  a  cold  little  hand  in  mine. 

What  it  all  amounted  to,  told  disjointedly,  was  this: 
Since  Monny  had  had  an  inspiration  the  day  after  our 
arrival  in  Cairo,  to  give  Rachel  Guest  a  lot  of  her  new 
unworn  clothes,  Rachel  had  become  quite  girlish  and 
"flighty."  She  had  lost  her  puritan  primness,  and  be- 
haved more  in  accordance  with  her  slanting  eyes  than  with 
her  bringing  up.  She  giggled  like  a  schoolgirl  rather  than 
a  schoolmistress,  tried  to  make  herself  look  young,  and 


140  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

copied  Monny  in  the  way  she  tilted  her  hat  and  dressed 
her  hair.  No  harm  in  this;  but  it  had  seemed  to  Biddy 
that  Rachel  deliberately  incited  the  girl  to  do  things  which 
"Antoun"  disapproved.  Brigit  fancied  that  Bedr's  in- 
fluence had  been  at  work,  for  knowing  as  he  did  that 
"Antoun"  would  gladly  h.ave  given  him  marching  orders, 
he  took  pleasure  in  thwarting  his  superior  when  he  could 
do  so  with  safety.  Bedr  had  been  clever  in  enlisting  the 
girls'  sympathy  for  his  soul.  As  for  Biddy,  she  had  dis- 
liked him  from  the  first,  and  imagined  that  he  had  tacked 
himself  onto  our  party  as  a  spy,  upon  the  receipt  of  orders 
from  America,  he  having  learned  most  of  his  English  there. 
The  idea  appeared  so  far-fetched  that  she  had  abandoned 
it.  Now,  however,  it  was  again  hovering  at  the  back  of 
her  mind. 

Bedr  had  told  Rachel  stories  of  the  fascination  of  hash- 
eesh smoking,  and  had  said  that  no  stranger  knew  Cairo 
who  did  not  visit  one  of  the  "best  houses  "  where  hasheesh, 
though  forbidden,  was  still  secretly  smoked.  He  had 
assured  her  that  there  were  several  which  were  "perfectly 
respectable,"  even  for  the  "nicest  ladies  and  gentlemen;" 
and  Rachel,  probably  at  his  suggestion,  had  tried  to  per- 
suade Monny  to  make  the  expedition.  Monny  had  men- 
tioned it  to  "Antoun,"  in  the  presence  of  everybody;  and 
as  Rachel  and  Bedr  had  looked  guilty,  Biddy  guessed  that 
they  had  wished  to  keep  the  plan  a  secret. 

"Antoun"  had  perhaps  too  brusquely  vetoed  the  idea. 
He  said  that  there  were  no  such  houses,  which  could  be 
visited  by  ladies,  and  that  it  was  absurd  to  think  of  going. 
That  word  "  absurd  "  stung  Monny.  She  began  to  protest 
that  Bedr  knew  Cairo  as  well  as  Antoun  did,  and  was  as 


THE  SECRET  MONNY  KEPT  141 

likely  to  be  right.  "I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  go,  if 
others  do,"  she  persisted,  "and  I've  always  longed  to  know 
what  a  hasheesh  dream  was  like,  ever  since  I  read  De 
Quincey.  A  little,  just  once,  could  do  us  no  harm,  and 
Rachel  says " 

But  what  Rachel  had  said  was  evidently  not  for  publica- 
tion. Miss  Guest  stopped  her  with  a  hand  on  hers,  and 
a  "  Dear  Monny,  please  don't  let  us  think  of  it  any  more, 
if  Antoun  Effendi  disapproves.  Maybe  it  was  a  silly  idea, 
and  we've  plenty  of  amusing  things  to  do  every  minute. " 

Monny  was  apparently  contented  to  let  the  idea  slip, 
and  Brigit  had  thought  that,  in  the  excitement  of  getting 
ready  for  the  ball,  she  and  Rachel  had  really  forgotten  it. 
Then,  before  writing  me,  she  had  overheard  Rachel  say 
to  her  friend,  "It's  for  twelve  o'clock  sharp."  And 
Monny  had  answered,  "Won't  it  be  great!  Does  Bedr 

think But  she  had  stopped  short  at  sight  of 

Brigit. 

Even  this  did  not  suggest  to  Biddy  a  visit  to  a  "hasheesh 
den,"  for  various  other  plans  had  been  broached  and  dis- 
couraged by  "Antoun."  She  did  not  feel  that,  as  she  was 
not  supposed  to  know  his  real  status,  she  could  go  "  blab- 
bing" to  him;  and  fearing  that  mischief  was  on  foot,  she 
had  wished  for  me.  When  I  didn't  arrive,  she  soothed 
herself  by  reflecting  that,  after  all,  she  need  only  keep  a 
sharp  watch  over  Monny  when  midnight  drew  near. 
None  of  the  party  intended  to  dance,  and  so  it  would  be 
easy,  Brigit  thought,  to  "have  an  eye  upon  the  girls." 

Monny  had  bought  Oriental  costumes  for  herself  and 
Rachel.  They  were  rather  conspicuous,  luckily  for 
Biddy's  plan,  for  among  the  many  gorgeous  dresses  in  the 


142  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Casino  she  had  no  difficulty  in  tracking  those  two.  Until 
half  past  eleven,  she  told  herself,  she  need  not  be  on  the 
alert  every  instant;  but  therein  had  lain  her  mistake.  Sir 
Marcus  Lark  had  appeared,  dressed  (more  or  less)  as  a 
Roman  officer  of  the  Occupation  days,  he  having  heard 
Mrs.  East  remark  that,  "whatever  anybody  said,  it  was 
her  favourite  period."  The  lady,  of  course,  had  not 
missed  such  an  opportunity  to  appear  as  Cleopatra.  She 
had  brought  a  costume  with  her  from  New  York;  and 
while  Biddy  "lost  herself"  in  watching  the  effect  of  this 
magnificence  on  Sir  Marcus,  the  girl^  vanished. 

Without  alarming  Mrs.  East,  Brigit  had  begun  to 
search.  She  asked  everybody  she  knew  in  the  ballroom 
if  the  girls  had  gone  out,  and  inquired  in  the  cloakroom; 
but  the  two  h.ad  been  seen  by  nobody.  It  was  as  if  they 
had  melted  into  air;  and  Brigit  began  to  suspect  that  they 
must  have  covered  up  their  brilliant  dresses  with  dominoes 
smuggled  into  the  Casino.  Willis  Bailey  was  at  the  ball,  \ 
but  he  had  developed  a  flirtation  with  Miss  Guest,  and 
Biddy  felt  th.at  he  was  not  to  be  trusted  as  a  confidant. 
Perhaps,  too,  he  had  helped  the  girls  to  disappear.  It 
seemed  cruel  to  frighten  Mrs.  East,  when  the  scheme, 
whatever  it  was,  might  be  no  more  than  an  innocent  freak; 
so  Biddy  said  nothing  to  Queen  Cleopatra  or  her  Roman 
attendant.  She  slipped  across  the  garden  to  the  hotel, 
and  sent  an  Arab  messenger  off  in  a  taxi  with  a  note  to 
the  address  "Antoun"  had  told  her  would  find  him.  In 
less  than  an  hour  he  arrived,  and  when  he  had  listened 
to  her  account  of  what  had  happened,  he  said  after  a 
minute's  reflection  that  the  ladies  had  almost  surely  gone 
with  Bedr  to  some  hasheesh  den,  or  a  place  masquerading 


THE  SECRET  MONNY  KEPT  143 

as  such.  "Antoun"  consoled  Biddy  as  well  as  he  could, 
by  saying  that  no  harm  would  come  to  Miss  Gilder  or  Miss 
Guest.  Bedr  would  know  too  well  on  which  side  his 
bread  was  buttered  to  take  his  clients  where  insult  or 
danger  could  reach  them.  Off  "Antoun"  went  to  look  for 
the  missing  ones  though,  and  assured  Biddy  that  she 
should  have  news  as  soon  as  possible. 

It  was  not  till  three  o'clock  that  she  had  begun  to  be 
very  anxious,  and  had  disturbed  the  harmony  of  Sir 
Marcus  Lark's  duet  with  Mrs.  East.  Even  then  she 
would  not  have  spoken  had  she  not  feared  that  the  ball 
would  break  up,  and  there  would  be  no  man  to  appeal  to! 

Sir  Marcus  had  been  inclined  to  smile  at  the  notion 
of  danger;  but  he,  like  Anthony  Fenton,  was  ignorant  of 
any  private  qualms  which  troubled  Brigit  O'Brien.  She 
could  not  tell  him  who  she  was,  and  that  she  considered 
herself  far  from  being  a  "mascot"  to  her  fellow-travellers. 
If  she  had  told,  and  added  that  she  feared  enemies  who 
might  for  certain  reasons  make  a  mistake  in  Monny's 
identity,  he  would  have  laughed  his  hearty  laugh,  and  said 
that  such  melodramatic  things  didn't  happen,  even  in 
Egypt. 

"But  you  know,"  Biddy  appealed  to  me,  "that  melo- 
dramatic things  have  happened  to  me  and  those  near  me. 
I'm  not  even  sure  that  poor  Richard's  death  was  natural, 
though  I  watched  over  him  like  a  hawk  in  those  dreadful 
days  when  he  was  fearing  every  shadow,  and  we  were  flit- 
ting from  pillar  to  post,  with  Esme.  Through  Richard 
two  men  were  electrocuted.  He  used  to  get  threatening 
letters  forwarded  from  place  to  place,  always  signed  with 
the  same  initials,  and  he  wouldn't  tell  me  what  they 


144  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

meant.  It  was  because  of  them  that  he  hid  Esme  in  a 
convent-school  before  he  died;  for  she  was  threatened  as 
well  as  he.  I,  too,  for  the  matter  of  that!  Not  that  the 
child  or  I  had  done  the  organization  any  harm;  but  Esme 
is  of  his  blood,  and  they  may  have  thought  I  had  more  of 
their  secrets  than  I  really  have.  I've  not  used  the  name 
of  O'Brien  for  years  now,  and  I've  moved  about  so  much 
that  sometimes  I  have  felt  I  must  be  safe.  Still,  I  ought 
perhaps  not  to  have  gone  to  visit  Esme,  though  she  wrote 
and  begged  me  to,  for  special  reasons  I  needn't  bother  you 
with:  a  curious  little  love  romance  which  I  fear  must  end 
badly.  I  didn't  think  of  danger  to  Monny;  but  you  see, 
as  I've  told  you,  the  convent  isn't  far  from  Monaco.  I 
got  off  the  Laconia  there,  to  visit  Esme,  and  when  I  came 
on  board  again,  Monny  and  Mrs.  East  and  Rachel  came 
with  me.  They'd  been  in  Italy  and  France,  and  had 
picked  up  Miss  Guest,  who  was  only  too  enchanted  to 
batten  on  Monny's  kindness  and  dollars.  It  was  I  who 
had  engaged  their  staterooms,  on  a  cable  from  Monny, 
long  before.  And  if  there  were  a  spy  anywhere,  he  might 
have  the  idea  that  I  wanted  to  smuggle  Esme  out  of  her 
convent  by  a  trick,  and " 

"But  almost  every  one  must  know  Miss  Gilder's  face 
from  her  photographs  in  newspapers,"  I  broke  in,  on  a 
stifled  sob  of  Biddy's.  "She  couldn't  be  mistaken  for 
another  girl,  as  an  unimportant  young  person  might. " 

"I'm  not  sure.  Those  photographs  were  snapshots, 
and  very  bad,  as  you  must  know  if  you've  ever  seen  any. 
Monny  never  gave  a  portrait  of  herself  to  a  newspaper, 
and  it's  years  since  they  got  hold  of  a  good  one.  Besides, 
if  she  weren't  mistaken  for  Esme  O'Brien,  that  wretched 


THE  SECRET  MONNY  KEPT  145 

Bedr  might  have  made  up  a  plot  to  have  her  kidnapped 
for  ransom.  It  was  the  thing  Monny's  father  was  always 
afraid  of  —  absurdly  afraid  of,  I  used  to  think." 

"I  think  so  still,"  I  said.  "Such  things  don't  happen 
—  anywhere,  to  a  grown-up  girl. " 

"What  about  Raisuli  in  Tangier?"  Biddy  challenged 
me.  "He  used  to  kidnap  people  whenever  he  liked.  And 
so  do  lots  of  brigands. " 

"We  haven't  to  do  with  brigands. " 

"Oh,  what's  in  a  name?  And  I  wouldn't  put  anything 
past  that  horrid  Bedr. " 

"As  Anthony  said  to  you,  he  knows  which  side  his 
bread's  buttered. " 

"But  if  he  hopes  some  one  will  give  him  more  butter 
for  being  wicked  than  he  can  get  from  us  for  being  good?  " 

"Let's  not  think  of  far-fetched  contingencies,  dear," 
said  I.  "Now  you've  told  me  all,  I  will  try  to  do  some- 
thing  " 

"May  I  come  in?"  boomed  a  big  voice  at  the  door. 
"I  knocked  and  nobody  answered,  so  I  thought  the  room 
would  be  empty " 

Biddy  dropped  my  hand  like  a  hot  potato.  She  had 
jumped  up  so  quickly  from  our  sofa  that  Sir  Marcus 
Lark's  observant  eyes  could  hardly  have  seen  us  sitting 
there  together. 

"Of  course,  come  in,"  she  said.  "Have  you  anything 
to  tell?  But  I'll  call  Mrs.  East.  She  won't  like  you 
to  begin  without  her. " 

Biddy  darted  off  to  an  adjoining  room,  leaving  me  alone 
with  my  employer. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this  affair?  "  I  wanted  to  know. 


146  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Well, "  said  he,  "I  can  only  judge  other  men  by  myself. 
If  I  had  such  a  chance  to  appear  a  hero  in  the  eyes  of  a 
pretty  woman  as  Fenton  has,  I'm  afraid  I'd  be  tempted 
to  take  advantage  of  it,  even  if  I  had  to  play  some  trick  to 
make  myself  indispensable.  Now  you  see  in  a  nutshell 
what  I  think.  Captain  Fenton  will  certainly  rescue  those 
young  ladies  from  a  trap  if  he  has  to  make  the  trap 
himself." 

I  was  disgusted,  and  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "You 
have  a  poor  opinion  of  Fenton, "  I  said. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  think  very  highly  of  his  intelligence. 
I'm  not  worrying  about  any  one  of  the  three,  though  don't 
mention  it  to  Mrs.  East  or  Mrs.  Jones  that  I  said  so.  I've 
come  to  tell  them  that  my  men  have  searched  Cairo  and 
found  nothing.  Not  the  police,  you  know;  I  haven't 
applied  to  the  police  after  all.  I  thought  Fenton  would  be 
furious.  And  anyhow  it  might  make  talk.  But  I've  paid 
the  best  dragomans  in  town  to  look  sharp;  and  they  know 
as  much  about  this  old  place  as  the  police  do,  if  not  more. 
By  the  way,  Lord  Ernest,  did  Corkra.n  say  anything  to 
you  about  an  intention  to  throw  over  his  job  on  the 
Candace?" 

"No.     He  said  he  'was  going  to  call  on  you,  that's  all. " 

"He  did  call.  I  was  out  —  on  this  business,  as  it 
happens.  He  waited,  and  I  found  him,  making  himself  at 
home  in  my  sitting-room  —  which  I  use  as  a  kind  of  office. 
I  wish  I  knew  how  many  of  my  letters  and  papers  he'd  had 
time  to  read. " 

"Surely  he  wouldn't  -    -  " 

"I  shouldn't  say  'surely'  was  the  word.  I'd  gone  out 
in  a  hurry  and  left  things  scattered  about  —  which  isn't 


THE  SECRET  MONNY  KEPT  147 

my  habit.  When  I  came  back,  it  struck  me  that  my  desk 
looked  a  bit  tempting  for  a  man  with  a  retired  conscience. 
I  was  going  to  keep  him  on  the  Candace,  rather  than  fuss, 
because  it  wasn't  so  much  his  fault  as  mine  that  he  was 
the  wrong  man  in  the  place.  He  couldn't  do  any  harm  in 
Jerusalem,  it  seemed.  Let  him  wail  in  the  Jews'  Wailing 
Place,  if  he'd  any  complaints,  said  I  to  myself.  I  thought 
he  was  too  keen  on  money  to  resign  because  his  silly  pride 
was  hurt.  But  to  my  surprise,  he  informed  me  that  he'd 
come  to  'hand  in  his  papers,'  as  he  called  it.  So  much  the 
worse  for  his  pocket  and  the  better  for  mine!  Only  it 
struck  me  as  d  —  d  queer,  considering  Corkran's  charac- 
ter. I  wanted  to  ask  if  he'd  spit  out  any  venom  to  you." 

"Not  a  drop,"  said  I.  But  I,  too,  thought  it  queer, 
considering  Corkran's  character,  and  the  fact  that  having 
resigned  of  his  own  free  will,  he  could  hardly  expect  Lark 
to  pay  his  way  home.  It  even  occurred  to  me  to  won- 
der if  the  resignation  were  not  a  sudden  thought  of  the 
Colonel's.  He  had  spoken  several  times  of  going  on  to 
Palestine,  and  had  mentioned  the  trip  that  morning.  Had 
Sir  Marcus  said  something  inadvertently,  which  had  so 
piqued  Corkran  that  he  threw  over  his  appointment  on 
the  impulse?  Or  had  he  perhaps  been  dishonourable 
enough  to  glance  at  a  letter,  in  which  Lark  referred  to  him 
in  terms  uncomplimentary? 

As  I  asked  myself  these  questions,  Mrs.  East  came  in 
with  Brigit,  and  Sir  Marcus  forgot  me.  His  face  said 
"What  a  woman!  "  And  anxiety  was  becoming  to  Cleo- 
patra. It  gave  to  her  that  thrilling  look  which  only 
beautiful  Jewesses  or  women  of  Latin  race  ever  wear:  a  look 
of  all  the  tragedy  and  mystery  of  womanhood  since  Eve. 


148  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"What  news  of  them?"  she  asked  Sir  Marcus,  when  she 
had  given  a  ringed  hand  and  an  almond-eyed  glance  to  me. 

"No  news  exactly,"  said  the  big  man,  "but  I  feel  sure 
your  niece  and  her  friend  are  safe  — 

"My  niece  and  her  friend!"  exclaimed  Cleopatra, 
ungratefully  frowning.  "Why  do  you  say  nothing  of 
'Antoun?'  Does  nobody  care  what  becomes  of  him?" 

As  she  spoke,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  One  of 
the  Arab  servants  of  the  hotel  announced  that  a  man  had 
a  letter  for  Mrs.  Jones. 

"Mrs.  Jones?"  cried  Biddy.  "I  am  Mrs.  Jones. 
Where's  the  letter?" 

"That  man  not  give  it  to  us.  He  say  he  see  you  or  not 
give  it  at  all." 

"Well,  why  didn't  you  send  him  up?" 

"Arab  mans  not  let  in  hotel,  if  peoples  don't  ask  for 
them." 

"  An  Arab !     Not  —  not  —  is  he  a  stranger?  " 

"Yes,  Missis.     Very  low  man.     Never  comed  before." 

"Bring  him  here  —  quick!" 

Five  minutes  passed.  We  tried  to  talk,  but  could  think 
of  nothing  to  say.  Then  the  servant  returned,  ushering 
in  a  dwarfish  Arab  in  a  dirty  white  turban,  and  the  shabby 
black  galabeah  worn  only  by  the  poor  who  cannot  afford 
good  materials  and  the  bright  colours  loved  by  Egyptians. 

"From  Antoun  Effendi?"  asked  Biddy,  in  excitement, 
as  he  held  out  a  piece  of  folded  paper,  not  in  an  envelope. 

The  man  shook  his  head.  "He  spik  no  English," 
explained  the  servant  who  waited. 

"  You  talk  to  him, "  Biddy  appealed  to  me,  while  Cleopa- 
tra told  the  hotel  footman  that  he  might  go.  But  I  had  no 


THE  SECRET  MONNY  KEPT  149 

time  to  question  the  messenger.  Biddy  cried  out  as  she 
unfolded  the  paper.  "  Why,  Duffer,  inside  it's  addressed 
to  you !  It  says : 

For  Lord  Ernest  Borrow.  To  be  opened  by  Mrs.  Jones  in 
iiis  absence. 

Within  the  outer  wrapping  was  a  second  folded  paper, 
of  the  same  kind.  They  looked  like  sheets  torn  from  a 
notebook.  And  I  saw  that  the  address,  scrawled  in  pencil, 
was  in  Anthony's  handwriting. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CROCODILE 

THE  letter  had  evidently  been  dashed  off  in  a  great  hurry. 
It  was  short  and  written  in  French,  the  language  in  which 
"  Antoun"  chose  to  talk  with  foreigners. 

Give  the  bearer  two  hundred  piastres  and  let  him  go.  Don't 
try  to  make  him  speak.  I  have  promised  this.  Then  quick  to 
Jarvis  Pasha  and  get  him  to  raid  the  House  of  the  Crocodile. 
Question  of  hasheesh.  We  must  be  smuggled  out  when  arrests 
are  made  —  also  Bedr,  to  save  scandal.  A  —  . 

Not  a  word  as  to  whether  all  were  safe,  or  in  danger! 
But  I  realized  that,  for  some  reason,  each  instant  had  been 
of  value.  And  each  instant  was  of  value  now. 

Anthony  was  one  who  knew  precisely  what  he  wanted 
and  why  he  wanted  it.  I  obeyed  his  instructions  im- 
plicitly. Two  hundred  piastres  went  from  my  pocket  into 
the  hand  of  the  withered  Arab,  and  he  was  allowed  to  take 
his  departure  despite  a  burst  of  protest  from  my  compan- 
ions, who  naturally  wished  the  man  to  be  catechised. 
Once  the  door  had  shut  behind  the  bent  blue  back,  I 
handed  round  the  letter,  which  had  to  be  translated  for 
Sir  Marcus,  who  professed  contemptfor"  foreign  gibberish." 

Jarvis  Pasha  is  at  the  head  of  the  police,  has  been  for 
many  years,  and  is  the  most  interesting  man  in  Egypt 
after  the  well-beloved  "K." 

150 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CROCODILE        151 

Leaving  Sir  Marcus  to  go  on  with  his  task  of  consoling 
Mrs.  East,  I  dashed  off  in  my  waiting  taxi  with  the  Nubian 
of  the  silver  earrings.  We  drove  to  the  Governorat,  a  big 
house  in  a  square  near  what  was  once  known  as  the 
Guarded  City, the  very  heart  and  birthspot  of  Cairo:  Masr- 
el  Kahira,  the  Martial,  founded  under  the  planet  Mars. 

I  scribbled  a  line  to  Jarvis  Pasha,  and  sent  it  to  him  in  an 
envelope  with  my  card.  This  combination  opened  doors 
for  me;  and  three  minutes  later  I  was  shaking  hands  with 
a  tall,  thin,  white  moustached,  hawk-featured  Englishman 
who  looked  all  muscle  and  bones  and  brain.  Jarvis  Pasha 
being  in  the  secret  of  "Antoun's"  identity  and  business 
in  Cairo,  simplified  the  explanation,  and  did  away  with 
the  necessity  for  a  preface.  All  I  had  to  tell  was  the  brief 
story  of  the  girls'  disappearance  with  Bedr  el  Gemaly, 
and  Fenton's  following  them  into  space;  then,  how  word 
had  come  after  fourteen  hours. 

"The  House  of  the  Crocodile,"  Jarvis  Pasha  said,  when 
he  had  taken  and  read  the  letter.  "H'rn!  Do  you  know 
anything  about  that  house?" 

"I  know  the  old  stories  connected  with  it, "  I  answered. 
"If  it's  reputation  to-day  is  as  sinister  as  ever " 

"Not  at  all.  Figuratively  speaking  it  has  been  white- 
washed. It's  become  a  show  place  —  a  monument  his- 
torique.  This  is  interesting  information  which  Fenton 
sends,  but  if  it  came  from  any  one  else,  I  should  say  he  had 
dreamed  it.  He  may  be  giving  us  the  chance  of  an  im- 
portant coup.  Wait  a  few  minutes,  and  I'll  have  this 
thing  attended  to,  Lord  Ernest.  But  you  look  upset. 
Is  it  that  you  haven't  had  lunch,  or  are  you  worrying 
about  the  ladies?" 


152  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Both,"  I  answered  with  a  sickly  grin.  "Not  that  I 
mind  about  lunch.  I  couldn't  have  eaten  if  I'd  had  the 
time. " 

"You  haven't  as  much  belief  as  I  have,  in  your  friend," 
remarked  Jarvis  Pasha,  "if  you  think  he'd  let  them  come 
to  harm. " 

"They're  all  in  the  same  box,  apparently,"  I  excused 
my  lack  of  faith. 

"Trust  Fenton!"  said  the  Head  of  the  Police.  "He 
was  sharp  enough  to  find  the  needles  in  the  haystack,  and 
he's  smart  enough  and  strong  enough  to  take  care  of  them 
when  they're  found. " 

On  this,  Jarvis  Pasha  went  out  and  left  me  to  my  reflec- 
tions, which  rushed  to  the  House  of  the  Crocodile.  Every 
one  who  has  read  or  heard  stories  of  native  Cairo,  knows 
the  House  of  the  Crocodile,  in  the  Street  of  the  Sisters, 
and  how,  in  the  later  days  of  Mohammed  Ali,  people 
scarcely  dared  to  name  it  aloud.  The  "Tiger"  Defterdar 
Ahmed  built  it,  for^that  beautiful  Tigress,  Princess  Zohra, 
favourite  daughter  of  Mohammed  Ali,  who  married  her  off 
to  the  fierce  soldier  when  she  became  too  troublesome  at 
home.  Zohra  had  loved  a  young  Irish  officer  who  was 
murdered  for  her  sake,  and  had  no  true  affection  to  give 
Ahmed  or  any  other.  She  hated  all  men  because  of  the 
murderer,  her  own  nephew,  and  vowed  that  since  her  love 
had  cost  the  life  of  the  one  who  had  her  heart,  others  who 
dared  to  love  her  must  pay  the  same  price.  When  Ahmed 
died  suddenly,  soon  after  the  wedding,  those  who  had 
heard  of  Zohr.a's  vow  (and  there  were  many  in  the  harems) 
whispered  "poison."  Never  again  did  the  Princess  drive 
out  to  see  the  women  she  knew;  and  those  who  Lad  been 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CROCODILE        153 

her  friends  were  sent  away  from  the  door  of  the  dead 
Ahmed's  palace,  over  which  he  had  suspended  for  "luck," 
a  huge  crocodile  killed  in  the  far  south.  But  Zohra  was 
beautiful,  with  strange  eyes  which  drew  love  whether  she 
asked  for  it  or  not;  and  sometimes  a  small  lattice  would 
open  in  a  bay  of  one  of  those  windows  of  wooden  lace  whose 
carving  was  known  as  mushrbiyeh  work  because  shirib,  or 
sherbet,  used  to  be  placed  there  to  cool.  Out  of  the  lattice 
would  look  a  wonderful  face,  as  thinly  veiled  as  the  moon 
by  a  mist,  and  then  it  would  vanish  so  quickly  that  a  man 
who  saw,  half  believed  that  he  had  dreamed.  But  the 
eyes  of  the  dream  seemed  to  call,  and  could  not  be  for- 
gotten, any  more  than  the  song  of  a  siren  can  cease  to  echo 
in  ears  which  once  have  heard. 

After  the  beginning  of  Zohra's  widowhood,  the  noblest 
and  handsomest  youths  of  Cairo  began  mysteriously  to 
disappear.  They  would  be  well  and  happy  one  day,  and 
the  next  they  would  be  gone  from  the  places  that  knew 
them.  By  and  by  their  bodies  would  be  found  in  a  canal; 
always  the  same  canal,  near  the  water  gate  of  the  House 
of  the  Crocodile.  Then  the  vow  of  the  Princess  was 
remembered :  but  there  was  no  English  rule  in  those  days, 
and  the  police  shut  their  ears  and  eyes  where  a  daughter 
of  Mohammed  Ali  was  concerned.  Mothers  and  sisters 
of  handsome  young  men  shuddered  and  begged  those  they 
loved  never  to  pass  through  the  dark  Street  of  the  Sisters 
(Sharia  el  Benat)  where  the  crocodile  grinned  over  the 
door,  and  the  vision  of  a  face  looked  down  from  a  latticed 
window.  The  women  thought  of  the  water  gate  at  the 
back  of  the  house;  the  little  children,  who  had  heard  secret 
words  spoken,  thought  of  the  crocodile,  and  ran  crying  past 


154  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

the  house;  but  the  handsome  young  men  thought  only  of 
the  face,  and  each  one  said  to  himself,  "  She  will  not  make 
me  pay  the  price."  Still,  as  years  went  on,  bodies  were 
seen  in  the  water  from  time  to  time,  with  a  tiny  purple 
spot  over  the  heart  to  show  the  curious  that  death  had  not 
come  from  drowning.  And  some,  who  looked  for  lost 
ones,  could  not  reclaim  them  from  the  canal,  for  bodies 
were  not  always  found.  As  time  passed,  it  seemed  to 
people  who  hurried  by  the  house  in  the  narrow  street, 
that  the  crocodile  grew  larger  and  larger.  It  was  said 
that  it  had  been  fed  on  the  children  of  men  Tiger  Ahmed 
had  murdered  in  Sennaar. 

None  dared  to  say  what  they  believed  of  Princess  Zohra, 
but  when,  after  a  long  imprisonment  by  her  nephew 
Abbas,  in  the  House  of  the  Crocodile,  she  escaped  to 
Constantinople,  nobody  would  live  where  she  had  lived, 
and  the  palace  fell  almost  into  ruin. 

This  was  the  story  of  the  house  where  Monny  Gilder 
and  Rachel  Guest  and  Anthony  Fenton  were  now.  I  had 
heard  it  talked  about  by  our  Arab  servants  when  I  was  a 
child,  and  had  never  forgotten,  though  scarcely  since 
then  had  I  thought  of  the  tale,  until  the  remembered 
name  and  the  horrors  attached  to  it  jumped  into  my  mind 
on  reading  Anthony's  letter.  What  had  happened  in  the 
House  of  the  Crocodile  since  Zohra's  day,  I  did  not  know; 
but  because  of  the  old  story  it  seemed  more  sinister  that 
my  friends  should  appeal  for  help  from  that  place  than 
from  any  other  in  Cairo. 

I  was  not  left  long  alone.  Five  minutes  after  Jarvis 
Pasha  went  out  of  the  room  to  "arrange  things"  according 
to  Fenton's  request,  he  sent  me  a  man  with  whiskey  and 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CROCODILE        155 

soda,  and  biscuits.  I  drank  gladly,  and  ate  rather  than 
seem  ungrateful.  But  there  was  a  lump  in  my  throat 
which  would  stick  there,  I  knew,  until  those  three  were 
away  from  the  House  of  the  Crocodile.  I  was  still 
crumbling  biscuits  when  Jarvis  Pasha  came  briskly 
back. 

"Well,"  he  asked,  "are  you  braced  up  now?  If  you'd 
like  to  be  in  this  business,  you  can.  I'm  sending  a  white 
superintendent  with  my  police  to  raid  the  house,  on  the 
strength  of  Fenton's  letter  to  you,  though  until  now  the 
place  hasn't  been  suspected.  As  I  said,  it's  been  a  'show' 
house,  for  some  years  —  ground  floor  and  first  story  in 
repair,  just  as  in  Zohra's  day  —  upper  floors  ruinous,  and 
the  public  not  admitted  there.  If  anything  queer's  going 
on,  it  must  be  in  the  forbidden  part :  and  the  caretaker  is 
mixed  up  in  the  show.  A  pity  you  felt  bound  to  let  Fenton's 
messenger  off  I  You  can  go  with  my  superintendent,  Allen, 
and  reach  your  friends  as  soon  as  my  men  do.  Allen  has 
instructions  to  let  Fenton  and  the  ladies,  if  they're  found 
there,  slip  away,  and  it's  best  for  you  to  be  on  the  spot 
to  save  mistakes  in  identification.  Also  I've  ordered  a 
closed  arabeah  to  wait  for  you,  as  near  as  possible  —  my 
men  will  show  you  where.  You'll  know  it  for  certain  by  a 
red  camellia  on  the  Arab  driver's  European  coat.  And  by 
the  way,  take  this  Browning,  in  case  of  an  attack;  which 
I  don't  anticipate. 

As  Jarvis  Pasha  spoke,  he  opened  the  door,  and  sum- 
moned in  a  brown  young  Britisher  wearing  the  tarboosh 
which  denotes  "Gyppy"  officialdom.  Evidently  Allen 
was  prepared  for  me  as  I  for  him,  and  we  started  off  to- 
gether on  foot,  for  it  seemed  that  our  destination  was  not 


156  IT  HAPPENED  IX  EGYPT 

far  away.  We  walked  swiftly  through  the  crowded 
Mousky  (once  the  fashionable  part  of  Cairo,  before  the 
tide  flowed  to  the  modern  Isma'iliya  quarter),  and  after 
a  few  intricate  turnings  plunged  into  a  still,  twilight  region. 
The  streets  through  which  we  passed  were  so  narrow,  and 
the  old  houses  so  far  overhung  the  path  that  the  strip  of 
sky  at  the  top  of  the  dark  canyon  was  a  mere  line  of  in- 
laid blue  enamel  flecked  with  gold.  The  splendid  mush- 
rbiyeh  windows  thrust  out  toward  each  other  big  and 
little  bays,  across  the  ten  or  twelve  feet  of  distance  which 
parted  them,  as  if  to  whisper  secrets;  yet  the  delicate 
wooden  carvings  skilfully  hid  all  that  they  wished  to  hide, 
and  only  suggested  their  secrets. 

"Now  we'll  soon  be  coming  to  the  House  of  the  Croco- 
dile,"  said  Allen.  "By  Jove,  it's  a  joke  on  us,  and  a 
smart  one,  if  it's  been  turned  into  a  hasheesh  den,  under 
our  noses.  But  it  must  be  something  new,  or  we  should 
have  got  onto  it.  The  Chief  thinks  already  he  can  guess 
who's  at  the  bottom  of  the  business  and  who  has  put  the 
money  up :  a  certain  Bey,  in  whose  service  the  caretaker 
was  —  a  rich  old  Johnny,  very  old  fashioned,  who  lives  not 
far  off  in  a  beautiful  house  of  the  best  Cairene  period.  He's 
keen  on  antiquities,  and  has  been  of  service  to  the  govern- 
ment in  several  ways,  though  he's  a  reformed  smuggler; 
and  his  only  son,  dead  now,  was  a  hopeless  hashash;  that's 
what  they  call  slaves  of  the  hasheesh  habit.  I  suppose 
you've  read  all  about  the  'Hashashseyn'  of  the  Crusa- 
ders' days,  whom  we  speak  of  as  Assassins?  Well,  ever 
since  then  the  Hashasheyn  have  had  a  bad  reputation;  but 
this  old  man  I  speak  of  has  been  pitied  for  his  son's  failings, 
which  he  pretends  to  think  a  'judgment  for  his  own  past, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CROCODILE         157 

repented  sins.'  Now,  Lord  Ernest,  saunter,  please,  as  if 
you  were  a  tourist  in  my  charge,  admiring  the  old  door- 
ways." 

Two  native  workmen  appeared  in  front  of  us,  with 
pickaxes  on  their  shoulders.  Stopping,  they  threw  down 
their  tools.  One  produced  a  cord  which  he  stretched 
across  the  street  from  house  to  house;  and  in  the  middle 
he  hung  a  small  red  flag.  Then  the  pair  began  to  pick  in 
a  leisurely  way  at  the  surface  of  the  road,  and  before  we 
reached  the  barrier,  an  Arab  policeman  stationed  himself 
by  the  cord.  Glancing  ahead,  I  saw  that  the  farther  end 
of  the  narrow  lane  was  blocked  in  the  same  manner. 

"This  is  one  trick  we  have  of  doing  our  work  quietly," 
said  Allen.  "It  always  answers  pretty  well. " 

I  said  nothing,  but  used  my  eyes.  Coming  from  no- 
where apparently,  there  were  twenty  men  in  the  street. 
A  few  had  crowbars  in  their  hands.  Others,  native  police- 
men, carried  the  canes  with  which  they  control  the 
movements  of  the  people.  From  the  shaded  doorway  of 
a  large  house  a  native  sergeant  of  police  stepped  out  as  we 
approached,  and  saluted  Allen.  Over  the  closed  door,  a 
large,  dryly  smiling,  ancient  crocodile  hung. 

"  Have  our  men  come  and  taken  their  places?  "  asked  my 
companion  in  Arabic. 

"Yes,  Effendi,"  the  sergeant  answered.  "All  has  been 
done  according  to  order.  The  back  entrance  which  was 
the  water  gate  before  the  old  canal  was  filled  up,  is  sur- 
rounded, and  the  adjoining  houses  with  which  some  com- 
munication may  have  been  established  are  watched. 
Not  a  rat  could  have  crawled  out  since  we  came,  nor  could 
one  have  gone  in.  To-day  is  the  feast  of  a  saint,  and  these 


158  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

people  have  their  excuse  not  to  open  the  house  to  visitors, 
for  so  it  is  with  other  show  places.  Look,  it  is  written  up, 
that  until  to-morrow  there  is  no  admission. "  As  the  man 
pointed  to  a  card  hanging  from  a  hook,  he  and  Allen 
smiled  at  the  cleverness  of  this  pretext  for  closing  the  door. 
In  English,  French,  and  Arabic,  the  reason  was  announced 
in  neat  print.  Probably  this  was  not  the  first  time  the 
same  excuse  had  been  used  in  the  same  way. 

"They  must  have  taken  alarm  at  something,  and 
thought  they  were  being  watched,"  Allen  said  to  me. 
"  That's  why  they've  sported  their  oak.  I  expect  we 
shall  make  a  haul,  as  —  for  everybody's  sake  concerned  — 
they  wouldn't  dare  let  their  clients  out,  to  fall  into  a 
trap.  Yes,  that's  why!  Or  else " 

He  stopped,  and  I  did  not  ask  him  to  go  on,  for  I  knew 
that  to  ask  would  be  useless.  Yet  I  guessed  what  he  had 
meant  to  say,  and  why  he  had  stopped.  He  didn't  wish 
to  alarm  me,  but  it  was  in  his  mind  that  the  house  had 
been  closed  because  of  something  planned  to  happen 
inside.  And  that  something  might  be  connected  with 
my  friends.  We  should  soon  know! 

My  first  thought  was  that  we  were  to  get  through  the 
door,  by  breaking  it  in,  or  by  forcing  those  on  the  other 
side  to  open  for  us.  In  an  instant,  however,  I  realized 
that  my  idea  was  absurd.  It  would  take  an  hour  to  batter 
down  that  thick  slab  of  old  cedarwood,  and  Allen  had  said 
that  he  wanted  to  do  things  quietly.  No,  the  brown  ser- 
geant was  not  here  to  open  the  door,  but  to  see  that  it  did 
not  open  unless  for  our  benefit. 

Two  of  Allen's  men  were  unfolding  a  curious  ladder 
like  a  lattice,  which  they  made  secure  with  screws  when 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CROCODILE        159 

they  had  stretched  it  to  full  length.  Then,  up  it  went 
to  one  of  the  beautiful  mushrbiyeh  windows  which,  on  the 
level  of  the  story  above  the  ground  floor,  bayed  graciously, 
overhanging  the  street.  One  man  standing  below  held 
the  ladder  firmly  in  place,  while  another,  small  and  lithe 
as  a  monkey  and  enjoying  the  task  as  a  monkey  might, 
ran  up  to  the  top  that  leaned  against  the  window.  Evi- 
dently he  was  a  skilled  worker,  for  before  I  knew  what  he 
would  be  at,  he  had  with  some  small,  sharp  instrument, 
prized  out  without  breaking  it,  one  of  the  sections  of  carved 
lattice.  This  he  tossed  lightly  down  to  a  man  who  caught 
it,  and  as  he  and  four  others  after  him  slipped  through 
the  opening,  the  sergeant  knocked  on  the  closed  door, 
under  the  swinging  form  of  the  crocodile.  Nobody  an- 
swered. But  three  minutes  passed,  and  then  suddenly 
there  was  the  sound  of  a  falling  bar,  and  a  very  old,  very 
dark  man,  with  a  white  turban  and  a  white  beard,  peeped 
out. 

"Thieves!"  he  cried  in  Arabic.  "Thieves  break  in  at 
the  windows!" 

He  was  making  the  best  of  a  bad  business,  I  guessed, 
and  hoped  somehow  to  justify  himself  to  the  poh'ce. 
But  though  he  was  gray  with  fright,  he  forgot  to  look  sur- 
prised. 

My  Arabic  was  not  equal  to  the  strain  of  catching  all 
the  gabble  that  followed:  the  old  man  protesting  that  it 
was  right  to  close  the  house  to-day;  that  if  it  were  the 
police  and  not  thieves  who  broke  in,  it  was  unjust,  it  was 
cruel,  and  his  son  Mansoor,  the  caretaker,  would  appeal 
to  all  the  Powers.  Before  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  his 
first  breath,  he  was  hushed  and  handcuffed,  and  hustled 


160  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

away;  and  another  man  sprang  forward  from  behind  the 
angle  of  a  screen- wall  inside  the  entrance.  He  was  young, 
and  looked  strong  and  fierce  as  an  angry  giant,  but  at 
sight  of  Allen  and  the  rest  of  us,  he  stopped  as  if  we  had 
shot  him.  Perhaps  he  had  not  expected  so  many.  In 
any  case,  he  saw  that  there  was  nothing  he  could  hope  to 
gain  by  violence  or  bluster.  All  he  could  do  was  to  protest 
as  his  father  had  done,  that  this  visit  was  a  violation  of  his 
right  to  close  the  house  on  a  holiday. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Mansoor,"  said  Allen,  who  evidently 
knew  him.  "You  understand  very  well  that  isn't  why  we 
are  here.  You've  got  a  hasheesh  den  upstairs,  above  the 
public  show  rooms.  A  nice  trick  you  thought  you'd 
played  us,  but  you  see  you  didn't  bring  it  off. " 

By  this  time  we  were  inside  the  house,  having  thrust  the 
caretaker  in  again,  and  passing  the  three  tortuous  screen- 
walls  of  the  entrance,  into  a  courtyard.  Several  young 
Arabs  dressed  as  servants  stood  there,  large-eyed,  and 
stricken  at  sight  of  their  giant  master  held  by  four  police- 
men. But  there  was  not  a  sign  of  our  men  who  had 
crawled  through  the  window,  and  I  was  impatient  to  go 
where  they  had  gone. 

There  was  no  sound  of  scuffling,  no  sound  at  all,  except 
the  crying  of  some  startled  doves,  and  Mansoor's  voice, 
swearing  by  the  Prophet's  sacred  beard  that  if  anything 
were  wrong  he  was  not  the  one  to  blame.  There  were 
those  above  him  who  must  be  obeyed  or  he  and  all  that 
were  his  would  be  put  out  of  life;  but  I  cared  too  little  for 
him,  or  what  might  become  of  him  and  his,  to  listen  much. 
I  looked  up  and  saw  at  the  left  of  the  courtyard,  with  its 
several  closed  doors,  a  short  flight  of  steps  with  a  mount- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CROCODILE         161 

ing-block,  and  a  doorway  leading  to  a  winding  staircase. 
Round  the  court  went  a  gallery,  supported  with  old  marble 
pillars,  and  underneath  on  one  side  was  a  large  recess,  the 
takhtabosh,  raised  slightly  above  the  level  of  the  courtyard, 
and  having  a  row  of  wooden  benches  round  its  three  walls. 
Here  the  caretaker  and  his  male  relatives  and  friends  had 
evidently  been  smoking  their  nargilehs  and  drinking 
coffee;  our  arrival  had  disturbed  them  in  the  midst. 

Suddenly,  into  the  frightened  mourning  of  the  doves, 
broke  a  sharp  sound  of  cracking  wood.  "Come  along!" 
cried  Allen.  "They'll  be  past  the  barrier  in  a  minute!" 
And  leaving  Mansoor  and  the  others  to  be  dealt  with 
by  subordinates,  he  led  the  way  up  the  steep  stairs,  at 
a  run. 

We  did  not  stop  at  the  first  story,  the  "show"  part  of 
the  House  of  the  Crocodile;  but  catching  a  glimpse  of  a 
latticed  balcony  off  the  landing,  all  lovely  mushrbiyeh 
work,  and  a  great  room  of  Persian  tiled  walls  and  coloured 
marble  floor,  beyond,  we  dashed  up  another  flight  of  stairs 
to  the  story  above.  These  stairs  were  of  common  wood, 
and  somewhat  out  of  repair.  At  the  top  was  a  door  of 
carved  cedarwood  like  those  below,  but  rough  in  execution, 
faded,  and  with  here  and  there  a  starpoint  or  triangle 
of  the  pattern  missing,  leaving  a  hole  in  the  thick  wood. 
On  this  door  was  nailed  a  large  card  with  the  notice 
in  English,  French,  and  Arabic,  "Forbidden  to  the 
Public." 

"What  a  grand  idea  to  install  a  hasheesh  den  here!" 
I  could  not  help  thinking  as  I  followed  at  Allen's  heels  to 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  where  two  of  his  men  worked  with 
crowbars  to  prize  open  that  theatrically  dilapidated  door. 


162  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Behind  the  pair  who  worked  were  the  others  who  had  en- 
tered by  the  window  below;  and  hardly  had  we  taken  our 
places  in  the  strange  queue,  when  with  a  loud  groan  the 
door  gave  way.  The  couple  in  front  almost  fell  into  a  dark 
passage  on  the  other  side,  and  my  heart  leaped,  for  I  half 
expected  to  see  them  driven  back  upon  us  by  an  attack 
with  knives  or  pistols.  But  the  dim  vista  seemed  to  hold 
only  silence  and  emptiness  as  I  peered  over  men'sshoulders; 
and  as  we  crowded  in,  Allen  pushing  ahead  to  take  the 
lead,  nothing  stirred. 

The  passage  was  but  a  gallery,  like  that  below,  but  in- 
stead of  being  open,  it  was  closed  in  with  lattice  of  mush- 
rbiyeh  work,  so  that,  though  those  within  could  look 
through,  it  was  as  secret  for  those  outside  as  if  it  had  been 
enclosed  by  a  solid  wall. 

The  darkness  was  patterned  with  light,  like  ebony  thinly 
inlaid  with  gold,  for  the  afternoon  sunlight  trickled  into 
the  delicate  loopholes  of  the  carvings,  and  we  began  to  see 
what  Enterprise  had  made  of  this  ruinous  upper  story. 
The  floor  had  been  dilapidated  and  unsafe;  but  new 
boards  had  been  placed  over  it,  covered  with  Egyptian- 
made  matting  and  rugs  to  deaden  sound  and  give  an 
appearance  of  comfort.  We  walked  quickly  along  to  the 
end  where  this  closed  gallery  turned  at  right  angles,  and 
there  found  another  door,  new  and  rough,  evidently  but 
lately  put  up.  It  was  not  so  strong  as  the  old  one;  and  it 
yielded  in  a  few  minutes  to  the  furious  industry  of 
our  men  with  their  crowbars.  They  lifted  the  door 
from  its  broken  hinges,  leaning  it  against  a  wall;  and 
as  we  passed  through,  an  Arab  pulled  aside  a  thick 
curtain  which  filled  in  a  doorway.  He  was  evidently 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CROCODILE        163 

a  servant,  and  seeing  the  police,  showed  no  sign  of 
surprise,  but  only  of  a  most  humble  resignation  which 
disclaimed  responsibility  and  begged  for  mercy. 

In  silence  the  man  was  taken  into  custody;  and  Allen 
and  I,  with  three  of  the  four  policemen,  passed  into 
the  region  behind  the  portiere.  There,  all  was  dusk, 
save  for  the  faint  light  sifting  down  from  a  carved 
wooden  dome  in  the  ceiling,  partly  curtained;  and  a  dark 
lantern  flashed  out  a  long  revealing  ray.  The  men 
ran  to  pull  back  heavy  cloth  hangings  which  entirely 
covered  the  latticed  windows,  and  would  allow  lamps  to  be 
lit  at  night  without  being  seen  from  street  or  courtyard. 
Instantly  sunshine  pierced  the  carved  interstices,  and  let 
us  see  what  Enterprise  had  done  for  his  clients.  We  were 
in  the  antechamber  of  a  long,  beautiful  room.  The  old, 
coloured  marble  of  the  durkaah  —  the  lower  level  of  floor 
nearest  the  entrance  —  had  been  repaired  with  new;  the 
dilapidations  of  a  fountain  were  almost  hidden  by  pink 
azaleas  in  pots;  the  liwan,  on  the  next  level,  had  a  good 
rug  or  two;  and  the  diwaan,  at  the  farthest  and  highest 
end,  was  furnished  with  red-covered  mattresses  and  pil- 
lows. The  low  wall-benches  of  marble  were  set  here  and 
there  with  glass  bowls  of  roses  and  syringa;  and  tiny  cedar- 
wood  cupboards  high  in  the  tiled  walls  were  open  to  show 
coffee  cups,  tobacco  jars,  and  pipes  made  of  cocoanut  shells 
with  long  stems  of  cane. 

Four  men,  who  had  apparently  been  lying  on  the  mat- 
tresses, stood  up  and  faced  us,  not  fiercely,  but  with  some- 
thing of  the  attendant's  resignation.  Two  were  in 
European  clothes,  with  the  inevitable  tarboosh;  and  two, 
equally  well  dressed,  were  old  fashioned  and  picturesque 


164  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

in  the  long,  silk  gown  and  turban  style  which  "Antoun" 
and  other  lovers  of  the  ancient  ways  affected.  They  were 
of  the  "Effendi  class,"  and  might  be  merchants  or  pro- 
fessional persons.  A  turbaned  man  with  a  black  beard 
Allen  knew,  and  greeted  in  Arabic,  "Hussein  Effendi! 
Who  would  have  thought  to  see  you  here!" 

" Why  not?"  answered  the  other,  with  a  melancholy 
smile  and  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "There  is  no  harm, 
really,  but  only  in  the  eyes  of  the  English.  We  are  caught, 
and  we  cannot  complain,  for  we  have  had  true  delight: 
and  we  have  known,  since  the  alarm  came  last  night,  that 
we  might  have  to  pay  for  our  pleasure. " 

"So  you  had  the  alarm  last  night?"  said  Allen,  looking 
as  if  there  were  nothing  surprising  or  puzzling  in  that. 

"Yes,  why  should  we  not  admit  it  now?  Word  came 
that  a  watch  had  been  set  outside,  both  back  and  front, 
and  none  of  us  dared  leave  the  house.  We  consented  to 
be  locked  in,  though  there  is  one  in  another  room  who 
wished  to  get  out  and  run  the  risk.  That  was  not  per- 
mitted, for  the  sake  of  others;  and  to  prevent  him  from 
taking  his  own  way  in  spite  of  prudence,  we  let  ourselves 
be  shut  in,  with  only  one  attendant  who  took  through  the 
holes  in  the  door  such  little  food  as  we  needed.  We  had 
begun  to  hope  that  it  had  been  a  false  alarm,  or,  since  no 
inquiries  seemed  to  have  been  made  below,  that  the 
watchers  had  gone  and  would  not  come  again.  We 
planned  as  soon  as  night  fell  to  go  to  our  homes;  but  it  was 
not  to  be.  And  if  any  are  to  blame,  it  is  not  those  who 
come  to  take  pleasures  provided  for  them,  but  rather  they 
who  cheat  the  coastguard  of  the  swift-running  camels,  and 
bring  what  is  forbidden  into  Egypt. " 


THE   HOUSE  OF  THE   CROCODILE         165 

"The  blame  will  be  rightfully  apportioned,"  said  Allen. 
"Meanwhile,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  Hussein  Effendi,  that  you 
and  those  in  your  company  are  subject  to  the  law.  I 
must  now  leave  you,  and  go  farther  to  see  what  others  we 
have  to  deal  with. " 

The  four  Effendis  were  politely  left  in  charge  of  two 
policemen  who  would  have  been  equal  to  twice  their  num- 
ber, and  our  one  remaining  man  went  on  with  Allen  and  me. 

"Your  friends,  and  perhaps  two  or  three  who  can  afford 
to  pay  big  prices,  will  have  had  their  smoke  in  private 
rooms, "  Allen  explained.  "We  can  guess  who  it  was,  who 
wanted  to  break  out !  There  are  probably  no  more  doors, 
only  curtains,  so  we  shall  have  no  trouble.  But  don't 
forget  that,  if  anything  unexpected  should  happen,  you 
have  a  pistol.  Of  course,  you  understand  that  it  could 
be  used  only  in  an  extreme  case. " 

A  curtained  doorway  led  out  from  the  diwaan  into  a 
small  anteroom,  and  there,  on  the  floor,  sat  Bedr  el 
Gemaly,  the  picture  of  dejection.  Had  I  raised  my  voice 
in  the  next  room,  he  would  perhaps  have  ventured  in  to 
see  what  I  could  do  to  help  him;  for  now,  at  sight  of  me,  he 
scrambled  up  in  shamefaced  eagerness. 

"Oh,  my  lordship!"  he  began  to  cackle.  "Praise  be  to 
Allah  you  are  come !  I  was  persuaded  to  bring  the  young 
ladies  here.  They  would  make  me  do  it.  Yes,  sir.  It  is 
not  my  fault.  They  pay  me.  I  have  to  obey.  Then  we 
get  caught,  like  we  was  some  rats.  No  fair  to  punish  me. 
The  ladies  all  right.  No  harm  come,  except  a  little  sick. " 

"If  no  harm  has  come,  that's  not  due  to  you,  but  to  a 
very  different  man,  as  you  well  know, "  I  said.  And  as  I 
spoke,  the  man  I  had  in  my  mind  appeared  before  my  eyes. 


166  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Hullo!"  I  exclaimed,  joyously. 

Anthony's  eyes  and  Allen's  met;  but  I  could  not  tell  if 
they  knew  each  other,  nor  could  I  ask  then.  It  was 
enough  for  Allen  in  any  case,  however,  that  this  magnifi- 
cent Hadji  was  one  of  the  friends  for  whom  I  searched. 
He  turned  to  Bedr.  "You  brought  two  ladies  here, 
I  understand,"  he  said  quickly  and  sharply.  "Then  you 
must  have  acquaintance  with  the  place.  For  good 
reasons  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  you,  I  shall  not 
arrest  you,  but  you  will  have  to  report  at  the  Governorat 
inside  the  hour,  or  you  will  regret  it.  Do  you  know  the 
way  out  at  the  back  of  the  house?  " 

"I  do,  gracious  one,"  Bedr  responded  with  business- 
like promptness. 

"Then  take  these  gentlemen,  and  the  ladies,  whom  I  do 
not  need  to  see,  out  by  that  door,  and  you  will  all  be 
allowed  to  go,  because  my  men  who  are  there  have  seen 
Lord  Ernest  Borrow,  and  they  have  my  instructions. " 

We  waited  for  no  more,  but  followed  Anthony,  who 
made  a  dash  through  the  further  room,  and  into  another. 
There,  on  a  mattress,  crouched  two  forlorn  figures,  veiled 
as  if  in  haste,  and  muffled  in  black  satin  fiabberahs  such  as 
Turkish  ladies  wear  in  the  street. 

"  Lord  Ernest !  Oh,  how  glad  I  am ! "  cried  one  of  these 
creatures,  while  the  other,  less  vital  or  more  miserable, 
whimpered  and  gurgled  a  little  behind  her  veil. 

"Come  along,  quick!"  I  said;  and  they  came.  Bedr 
led  the  way,  thankful  to  show  himself  of  use.  Anthony 
followed  as  if  to  protect  or  screen  the  girls  from  sight. 
I  brought  up  the  rear,  and  so,  scuttling  through  a  rabbit- 
warren  of  little  unfurnished,  dilapidated  rooms,  we  found 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  CROCODILE          167 

a  narrow  side  staircase,  and  tumbled  down  it,  anyhow, 
in  dust  and  dimness.  Then  two  more  staircases,  and  we 
were  in  a  cellar  which  looked  as  if  it  might  once  have  been 
used  as  a  prison.  Up  again,  and  rattling  at  a  chained  door. 
Then  out,  into  light  and  air,  into  the  midst  of  a  group, 
which  for  an  instant,  closed  threateningly  round  us.  But 
the  sergeant  I  had  seen  was  among  the  alert  brown  men. 
A  glance,  a  gesture,  and  we  were  allowed  to  pass,  a  youth 
running  with  us,  to  show  the  promised  carriage  and  the 
Arab  driver  with  the  red  camellia.  So  it  was  over, 
this  adventure! 

Yet  was  it  over? 

That  remained  to  be  seen.  And  remained  also,  to  see 
what  it  meant,  if  indeed  there  were  a  meaning  under- 
neath the  surface. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  FULL  MOON 

"  IT  SEEMS  too  good  to  be  true  that  it  should  end  like  this, " 
said  Monny. 

She  said  it  on  the  roof  of  Mena  House,  in  the  kiosk- 
room  made  of  mushrbiyeh  work,  which  I  had  engaged  for 
a  little  private  dinner-party  that  night.  You  see,  it  was 
the  night  of  the  full  moon,  the  magic  night  of  the  Sphinx- 
spell,  which  must  not  be  wasted,  no  matter  how  tired  you 
may  be  or  how  many  excitements  you  may  have  lived 
through. 

Anthony  and  I  had  had  our  explanations.  He  had  told 
me  that  one  night  in  a  cafe,  where  he  was  spreading  the 
news  of  his  dream,  he  had  heard  two  men  talking  in  low 
voices  about  the  House  of  the  Crocodile.  The  word 
"hasheesh"  had  not  been  mentioned,  but  Anthony  had 
imbibed  a  vague  impression  of  something  secret,  and  had 
wondered,  and  been  interested.  Then  the  matter  had 
slipped  his  mind;  but,  summoned  in  the  night  from  the 
writing  of  letters,  to  advise  Mrs.  Jones,  he  had  recalled 
Monny's  wish  to  visit  a  hasheesh  den.  He  knew  of  none, 
but  suspected  the  existence  of  one  or  two.  How  to  find 
out  in  a  hurry?  he  had  asked  himself.  And  with  that,  the 
remembrance  of  those  few  whispered  words  in  the  cafe  had 
come  echoing  back  to  his  brain.  He  acted  upon  the  sug- 

168 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  FULL  MOON        169 

gestion ;  went  to  the  door  of  the  swinging  crocodile,  knocked, 
and  knocked  again;  had  the  door  opened  to  him  as  if  in 
surprise  by  an  apparently  sleepy  man.  Announced  the 
motive  of  his  coming  as  if  it  were  a  foregone  conclusion 
that  hasheesh  could  be  smoked  in  that  house  by  the  ini- 
tiated. His  disguise  was  not  suspected.  It  never  was, 
when  he  played  the  Egyptian;  and  when  asked  who  had 
sent  huii,  he  had  the  inspiration  to  utter  the  name  of  that 
Bey  who  had  been  Mansoor's  master.  This  gave  him 
entrance.  He  was  taken  upstairs,  passed  through  the 
door  "Forbidden  to  the  Public";  and  the  first  person  he 
saw  in  the  long  room  as  he  entered,  was  Bedr  smoking  a 
gozeh,  one  of  those  cocoanut,  cane-stemmed  pipes  in 
which  hasheesh  is  mingled  with  the  Persian  tobacco  called 
tumbak. 

Bedr  was  accused  of  treachery,  and  defended  himself. 
The  ladies  had  insisted.  It  was  his  place  to  obey.  He 
had  done  no  wrong  in  engaging  a  carriage  to  wait  outside 
the  Ghezireh  Palace  gardens,  and  bringing  his  employers 
to  the  best  place  in  Cairo  for  the  hasheesh  smoking.  The 
ladies  were  safe  and  happy,  in  a  private  room  where  they 
had  tried  their  little  experiment,  and  now  they  were  sleep- 
ing. As  soon  as  they  waked  and  felt  like  going  home,  he  was 
ready  to  take  them.  It  was  for  Miss  Gilder,  not  for  Bedr, 
to  beg  pardon  of  her  friends  if  they  were  frightened.  And 
all  the  time,  it  had  seemed  to  Anthony,  that  the  man  was 
expecting  some  one  to  arrive.  He  watched  the  doorway 
half  eagerly,  half  anxiously;  when  a  servant  came  or  went, 
he  started,  and  betrayed  emotion  which  might  have  been 
disappointment  or  relief.  But  when  Anthony  questioned 
him,  he  said,  "I  expect  no  one,  Effendi.  It  is  only  that 


170  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

I  shall  not  be  easy  till  we  get  the  ladies  home,  now  you 
tell  me  their  people  are  alarmed. " 

Just  then,  and  before  Anthony  saw  the  girls,  a  servant 
had  come  running  in  to  say  that  there  was  an  alarm. 
Something  had  happened  in  the  street,  and  the  police  were 
there.  Mansoor  feared  that  it  was  a  ruse,  and  that  the 
house  was  being  watched,  back  and  front.  Where  the 
forbidden  thing  is,  no  precaution  can  be  too  great.  For 
their  own  sakes,  and  Mansoor's  sake,  no  one  must  go  out, 
perhaps  not  till  the  next  night;  but  luckily  a  saint's  day 
would  give  peace  for  the  morrow,  and  all  doors  could  be 
shut  without  causing  remark.  The  news  that  there  was 
no  escape  for  many  hours  to  come  distressed  no  one 
apparently,  except  "Antoun."  He  had  gone  to  the  door, 
and  tried  to  open  it,  but  found  that  already  it  was  locked 
on  the  other  side.  Then  he  knew  that  it  was  useless  to 
struggle,  for  he  was  unarmed,  the  door  was  thick,  and  no 
one  outside  could  hear  if  he  shouted.  He  must  use  his 
wits;  but  first  he  must  make  sure  that  the  two  girls  were 
safe.  He  forced,  rather  than  induced  Bedr  to  show  him 
the  room  they  had  engaged  —  a  small  one,  closed  only 
with  a  portiere,  and  looking  over  the  court,  down  into  the 
open-fronted  recess  where  Mansoor's  family-life  went  on, 
like  a  watch  dog's  in  his  kennel. 

It  was  true,  as  Bedr  had  said;  the  girls  slept  on  a  cush- 
ioned mattress,  wrapped  in  black  habberahs,  their  faces 
turned  to  the  wall.  As  they  could  not  be  taken  out, 
Anthony  did  not  wake  them,  but  let  them  get,  in  peace, 
their  money's  worth  of  dreaming.  His  next  thought  was 
to  try  and  bribe  the  Arab  attendant  to  smuggle  out  a 
letter;  but  acceptable  as  a  bribe  would  have  been,  the  man 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  FULL  MOON        171 

explained  his  helplessness  to  earn  it,  at  least  for  the  time 
being.  He  could  do  nothing  till  one  of  his  fellow-servants 
came  up  from  below,  to  pass  the  food  for  the  imprisoned 
smokers  through  a  hole  in  the  door,  made  purposely  in  case 
of  just  such  an  emergency.  Probably  no  one  would 
appear  till  morning,  for  who  would  be  hungry  before  then? 
Even  with  the  morning,  it  might  be  Mansoor  himself  who 
would  bring  the  food,  and  inquire  again  at  the  door  if  all 
were  well  within.  But  if  the  noble  Hadji  wrote  the  letter, 
it  should  be  sent  when  opportunity  arose.  One  of  the 
servants  below  stairs,  said  the  man,  was  his  father,  who 
might  during  the  next  day  be  able  to  slip  out  as  if  on  some 
errand.  Then  he  would  perhaps  take  a  letter,  if  he  could 
be  sure  of  good  pay,  and  that  he  would  not  be  delivered  up 
to  the  police.  So  Anthony  had  written  on  a  sheet  torn 
from  his  notebook,  and  made  an  envelope  of  another  sheet. 
The  address  of  the  Ghezireh  Palace  had  helped  the  man  to 
believe  that  no  evil  would  reach  his  father;  and  a  "sweet- 
ener "  in  the  shape  of  all  Anthony's  ready  money  had  done 
the  rest.  But  evidently  the  old  man  had  not  succeeded  in 
finding  an  excuse  for  an  errand  until  after  the  noon  hour, 
and  meanwhile  time  had  seemed  long  in  the  House  of  the 
Crocodile.  When  the  girls  waked,  wanting  to  go  home, 
they  were  ill.  They  found  the  game  not  worth  the  candle 
—  but  Anthony's  presence  had  given  them  comfort. 
They  were  humble,  and  remorseful;  and  Bedr  was  so  con- 
spicuously a  worm  that  Monny  consented  to  his  discharge. 
"It  would  take  more  time  than  we've  got  to  make  him 
worth  converting,"  she  said  to  Rachel  when  the  Armenian 
had  carefully  laid  all  the  blame  of  the  expedition  upon  her 
shoulders. 


172  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Never  were  two  runaway  children  more  glad  to  be 
found  and  restored  to  their  anxious  relatives  than  Monny 
Gilder  and  Rachel  Guest.  As  for  Bedr,  he  took  his  dis- 
missal, with  a  week's  wages,  submissively;  but  the  gravest 
question  concerning  him  still  lacked  an  answer.  Had  he 
merely  been  officious  and  indiscreet  in  guiding  the  girls 
secretly  to  the  House  of  the  Crocodile,  and  there  procuring 
hasheesh  to  buy  them  dreams,  or  had  he  wanted  some- 
thing to  happen,  in  that  house,  which  had  not  happened? 
A  certain  amount  of  browbeating  from  "Antoun, "  and 
bullying  from  me,  dragged  nothing  out  of  him.  And 
perhaps  there  was  nothing  to  be  dragged.  Perhaps  it  was 
through  oversensitiveness  that  Brigit  and  I  dwelt  suspi- 
ciously upon  Bedr's  motives,  and  asked  each  other  who  it 
was  he  had  expected  at  the  House  of  the  Crocodile.  Even 
Anthony  did  not  accuse  the  Armenian  of  anything  worse 
than  slyness  and  cowardice,  according  to  him  the  two  worst 
vices  of  a  man;  but  he  volunteered  to  find  out  what  mys- 
terious night-disturbance  in  the  street  had  caused  the 
sudden  closing  of  the  doors.  It  was  Biddy's  thought  that 
the  person  Bedr  wished  to  meet  might  fortunately  have 
been  prevented  by  this  very  disturbance  from  keeping  his 
appointment,  and  Monny  saved  a  serious  ending  to  her  ad- 
venture. It  began  to  seem  rather  a  worry,  travelling  with 
so  important  a  young  woman  as  Miss  Gilder:  and  a  vague 
dread  of  the  future  hung  over  me,  as  it  hung  over  Brigit, 
who  loved  the  girl.  We  felt,  dimly,  as  if  we  had  had  a 
"warning,"  and  did  not  yet  know  how  to  profit  by  it. 
The  atmosphere  was  charged  with  electricity,  as  before 
an  earthquake;  and  we  felt  that  the  affair  of  the  hasheesh 
den  might  be  but  a  preface  to  some  chapter  yet  unwritten. 


Still,  it  was  impossible  not  to  forgive  Monny  her  indiscre- 
tion. Indeed,  she  became  so  honey-sweet  and  childlike 
in  her  desire  to  "make  up"  for  what  we  had  suffered,  that 
the  difficulty  was  not  to  like  her  better. 

She  besought  us  to  forget  the  episode.  If  we  only  knew 
how  sick  she  and  Rachel  had  been,  we'd  see  why  they 
never  wanted  to  think  of  those  hours  again !  And  when  I 
chanced  to  mention  that  to-night  would  be  full  moon  — 
the  night  of  nights  when  the  Sphinx  and  the  Ghizeh  Pyra- 
mids held  their  court  —  Monny  begged  to  have  the  bad 
taste  of  her  naughtiness  taken  out  of  her  mouth  by  a  din- 
ner at  Mena  House.  We  might  dine  early,  and  plunge 
into  the  desert  later,  when  the  moon  was  high.  Of  course, 
I  proposed  that  all  should  be  my  guests  —  all  except 
"Antoun"  who,  though  recognized  as  a  gentleman  of 
Egypt,  was  considered  by  Miss  Gilder  an  alien,  not  exactly 
on  "dining  terms."  He  was  supposed  to  go  home,  "to  his 
own  address."  At  eight-thirty  he  was  to  take  a  taxi  to 
Mena  House,  where  he  would  arrive  before  nine,  in  time 
to  help  me  organize  my  expedition. 

I  explained  to  Monny  that,  though  we  should  dine 
privately,  it  would  be  my  duty  to  see  that  the  Candace 
people  paid  their  respects  to  the  Sphinx,  and  gazed  upon 
her  as  she  ate  moon-honey.  If  they  missed  this  sight,  or 
if  anything  went  wrong  with  their  way  of  seeing  it,  I 
should  never  be  forgiven.  But  the  much  chastened 
Monny  graciously  "did  not  mind."  She  thought  it 
would  be  fun  to  watch  the  sheep-dog  rounding  up  his 
flock.  Useless  to  explain  to  her  the  subtle  social  distinc- 
tion between  a  "Flock"  and  a  "Set"  (both  with  capitals) ! 
To  her,  the  blaze  of  the  Set's  smartness  was  but  the 


174  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

flicker  of  a  penny  dip.  We  could  drive  the  crowd  on 
ahead,  and  look  at  our  moon  when  they  were  out  of  its 
light. 

So  there's  the  explanation  of  Monny's  presence  in  the 
mushrbiyeh  kiosk  on  the  roof  of  Mena  House,  on  the  night 
following  the  great  adventure,  which  would  have  put  most 
girls  to  bed  with  nervous  prostration ! 

Part  of  our  programme,  to  be  sure,  had  failed;  but  it  was 
not  a  part  which  could  interfere  with  my  selfish  enjoy- 
ment. Mrs.  East  had  changed  her  mind  at  the  last 
moment,  and  had  decided  not  to  dine,  although  I  had 
invited  Sir  Marcus  on  purpose  for  her.  According  to 
Biddy,  Cleopatra  had  "something  up  her  sleeve,"  some- 
thing her  excuse  of  "seediness"  was  meant  to  cover. 
Maybe  it  was  only  a  flirtatious  wish  to  disappoint  Sir 
Marcus  —  maybe  it  was  something  more  subtle.  But  it 
did  not  matter  much  to  anybody  except  Lark,  who  was 
obliged  to  put  up  with  Mrs.  Jones  in  place  of  Mrs.  East; 
for  Rachel  Guest  and  the  sculptor,  whom  we  nicknamed 
"Bill  Bailey"  were  to  be  paired  off:  and,  urged  by 
Biddy,  I  intended  to  monopolize  Monny. 

I  suppose  there  could  scarcely  be  a  more  ideal  room  for 
an  intimate  dinner-party  on  a  moonlight  night  than  that 
kiosk  on  the  flat  roof  of  Mena  House.  Through  the  wide 
open  doors,  and  the  openwork  walls  like  a  canopy  of  black 
lace  lined  with  silver,  the  moonlight  filtered,  sketching 
exquisite  designs  upon  the  white  floor  and  bringing  out 
jewelled  flecks  of  colour  on  the  covering  and  cushions  of 
the  divans.  There  was  no  electricity  in  this  kiosk,  and  we 
aided  the  moonlight  only  with  red-shaded  candles,  and 
ruby  domed  "fairy  lamps, "  the  exact  shade  of  the  crimson 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  FULL  MOON        175 

ramblers  which  decorated  the  table.  For  the  corners  by  the 
open  doors,  I  had  ordered  pots  of  Madonna  lilies,  which 
gave  up  their  perfume  to  the  moon,  and  looked,  in  the 
mingling  radiance  of  rose  and  silver,  like  hovering  doves. 

"Oh,  I  could  hug  and  kiss  that  moon!"  sighed  Monny, 
tall  and  fair  in  her  white  dress  as  the  lilies  I  had  chosen 
for  her. 

I  was  relieved  that  the  Man  in  the  Moon  has  now  been 
superseded  by  a  Gibson  Girl;  for  Monny  was  beautiful 
at  that  moment  as  a  vision  met  in  the  secret  garden  which 
lies  on  the  other  side  of  sleep. 

"And  the  stars, "  Monny  said,  as  I  watched  her  uplifted 
face,  wondering  just  how  much  I  was  in  love  with  it,  "the 
little  stars  high  up  at  the  zenith  twinkle  like  silver  bees. 
Those  that  sit  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon  are  huge  and 
golden,  like  desert  watch-fires.  Oh,  do  you  know,  Lord 
Ernest,  if  quite  a  dull,  uninteresting  man,  or  —  or  one  that 
it  would  be  madness  even  to  think  of  —  proposed  to  me  on 
such  a  night,  I  should  have  to  say  yes.  It  would  seem  so 
prosaic  and  such  a  waste,  of  moonlight,  not  to.  Wouldn't 
you  feel  like  that  if  you  were  a  girl?" 

"I'm  sure  I  should,"  I  replied  with  extraordinary 
sympathy.  "I  do  feel  like  it,  even  as  a  man.  I  warn 
you  not  to  propose,  or  I  shall  snap  at  you. " 

She  laughed;  but  I  was  wondering  if  I  were  dull  and 
uninteresting  enough  to  stand  a  chance.  It  seemed  as  if 
Providence  were  actually  handing  it  to  me.  But  just 
then  Biddy  and  Sir  Marcus  came  to  the  doorway  which  so 
becomingly  framed  Monny's  form  and  mine.  Naturally 
that  put  the  idea  out  of  my  head;  and  two  such  oppor- 
tunities don't  come  to  a  man  in  a  single  night. 


176  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Dinner  was  not  ready  yet,  and  we  sauntered  about  on 
the  flat  roof,  white  as  marble  in  the  moonlight.  The  sky 
was  milk  —  the  desert,  honey  —  far  off  Cairo  with  its 
crowned  citadel,  pale  opal  veined  with  light,  and  faintly 
streaked  with  misty  greens  and  purples;  the  cultivated 
land  a  deep  indigo  sea.  The  fantastically  built  hotel 
(in  its  ancient  beginnings  the  palace  of  a  Pasha)  was  like 
a  closely  huddled  group  of  chalets,  looked  down  on  from 
its  central  roof.  On  the  fringe  of  the  oasis-garden  the 
cafes  and  curiosity-shops  buzzed  with  life,  and  glittered 
like  lighted  beehives.  Outside  the  gateway,  donkey-boys 
and  camel-men  and  drivers  of  sandcarts  chattered.  To- 
night, and  on  a  few  moonlight  nights  to  come  they  would 
reap  their  monthly  harvest.  They  were  all  ready  to 
start  off  anywhere  at  a  moment's  notice;  but  apart  from 
them  and  their  clamour,  reposed  a  row  of  camels  previously 
engaged,  free,  therefore,  to  enjoy  themselves  until  after  din- 
ner. As  we  gazed  down  as  if  from  a  captive  balloon,  at  the 
line  of  sitting  forms,  they  looked  immense,  like  giant,  new- 
born birds,  with  their  huge  egg-shaped  bodies  and  thin 
necks.  Along  the  arboured  road  from  Cairo,  flashed 
motor-car  after  motor-car,  their  lights  winking  in  and  out 
between  the  dark  trees,  now  blazing,  now  invisible,  their 
occupants  all  intent  on  doing  the  right  thing:  dining  at 
Mena  House,  and  seeing  the  full  moon  feed  honey  to  the 
Sphinx.  Some,  wishing  to  save  time,  or  to  dine  later  in 
town,  or  to  take  a  train,  for  somewhere,  later,  did  not  turn 
in  at  the  hotel  gate,  but  swept  past  with  siren  shrieks,  and 
tore  on,  hoping  to  "rush"  the  steep  hill  to  the  Pyramid 
platform  at  top  speed.  Only  a  few  of  the  strongest  suc- 
ceeded, and,  with  a  dash  instead  of  an  ignominious  crawl, 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  FULL  MOON        177 

triumphantly  fanned  their  lights  along  the  base  of  that  vast 
monument  in  which  King  Cheops  vainly  sought  eternal  pri- 
vacy. What  would  he  say,  we  wondered,  could  he  see  the 
crowds  of  tourists  tearing  out  to  pay  him  a  call,  on  their 
way  to  the  Sphinx?  Would  he  blight  them  with  a  curse, 
or  would  he  remember  pearly  nights  of  old,  when  his  sub- 
jects assembled  in  multitudes  for  the  feast  of  the  Goddess 
Neith  when  the  moon  was  full,  and  all  the  white,  brightly 
painted  houses  along  the  Nile  reflected  their  flowerlike 
illuminations  in  the  water?  Anyhow  (as  Sir  John  Biddell 
would  have  said),  this  was  helping  to  keep  his  name  before 
the  public;  and  nothing  could  succeed  in  vulgarizing  his 
mountain  of  gold  in  its  gleaming  waves  of  desert,  under 
pulsing  stars  and  creamy  floods  of  moonlight. 

Anthony  had  told  me  that  the  great  "  tip  "  was  to  go  out 
while  the  less  instructed  sightseers  ate  their  dinner. 
Then,  the  desert  was  comparatively  empty;  and,  more 
important  still,  instead  of  having  the  moon  on  her  head, 
and  her  face  in  shadow,  the  Sphinx  received  its  full  blaze 
in  her  farseeing  eyes.  Of  this  advice  I  meant  to  avail 
myself,  feeling  vaguely  guilty  as  I  thought  of  the  giver, 
who  was  absent  from  the  feast :  Anthony  Fenton,  one  of  the 
finest  young  soldiers  in  Egypt,  who  could  be  lionized  in 
drawing-rooms  at  home  if  he  would  "stand  for  it"! 
Anthony  who,  would  he  but  accept  the  repentant  overtures 
of  that  tyrannical  old  prince,  his  maternal  grandfather, 
might  inherit  a  fortune  and  a  palace  at  Constantinople! 
Yet  as  Ahmed  Antoun  in  his  green  turban,  he  was  "taboo" 
at  our  little  party. 

He  was  due  later,  however,  and  I  rather  expected  to  find 
him  waiting  below,  when  I  excused  myself  to  descend  to  the 


178  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Set.  But  I  had  not  left  the  roof  when  a  note  for  Monny 
was  brought  up  by  an  ebony  person  in  livery.  I  watched 
her  as  she  read,  one  side  of  her  face  turned  to  marble  by 
the  moon,  the  other  stained  rose  by  the  red-shaded  candles. 
I  thought  that  the  rosy  side  grew  more  rosy  as  she  finished 
the  letter. 

"There's  a  —  message  for  you,  Lord  Ernest,"  she  said. 
"Aunt  Clara  wants  me  to  tell  you  tha't  'Antoun'  can't 
meet  you  at  the  hotel,  because  she  —  changed  her  mind 
about  not  coming  out,  and  sent  for  him.  She  felt  better, 
it  seems,  and  got  thinking  what  a  pity  it  would  be  to  miss 
the  full  moon,  so  she  suddenly  remembered  that  'An- 
toun'  wasn't  with  us,  and  decided  to  invite  him.  She 
writes  in  a  hurry  and  didn't  know  where  they  would  dine, 
but  says  anyhow  they'll  meet  us  by  the  Sphinx  between 
nine  and  ten. " 

"Where  'they'd*  dine!"  echoed  Sir  Marcus,  pricked  to 
interest.  "Was  she  going  to  let  Fe  • —  I  mean  '  Antoun, ' 
take  her  out  to  dinner?  " 

"Apparently  she  was, "  replied  Monny,  rather  dryly. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Brigit.  "He's  perfectly  splendid. 
And  Mrs.  East  —  not  that  she  isn't  a  young  woman, 
of  course  —  is  old  enough  to  go  about  without  a  chap- 
eron. " 

"If  we're  to  meet  them  between  nine  and  ten  at  the 
Spkinx,"  said  Monny  briskly,  "don't  you  think,  Lord 
Ernest,  you'd  better  hurry  and  get  your  people  off,  so  we 
can  set  out  ourselves?" 

"I'm  going,  "  I  assured  her.  "  But  I  thought  we  planned 
to  give  them  a  long  start,  in  hopes  that  they  might  be 
ready  to  come  back  by  the  time  we  arrived?  " 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  FULL  MOON        179 

"Oh,  well, "  she  said,  "that  will  make  it  very  late,  won't 
it,  and  we  may  miss  Aunt  Clara?  Anyhow,  lots  of  other 
creatures  just  as  bad  as  yours  will  be  there,  for  we  can't 
engage  the  desert  like  a  private  sitting-room. " 

That  settled  it.  I  dashed  downstairs  and  sorted  out 
my  charges.  They  had  got  themselves  up  in  all  kinds  of 
costumes,  for  this  "act."  One  man  had  on  a  folding 
opera-hat,  which  he  had  thought  just  the  right  thing  for 
Egypt,  as  it  was  so  easy  to  pack!  Girls  in  evening  dress; 
men  young  and  old  in  helmets  and  straw  hats,  ancient 
maidens,  and  fat  married  ladies,  in  dust  cloaks  or  ball 
gowns,  climbed  or  leaped  or  scrambled  onto  camels,  with 
shrieks  of  joy  or  moans  of  horror:  or  else  they  tumbled  onto 
donkeys  which  bounded  away  before  the  riders  were  well 
on  their  backs.  And  men,  women,  and  animals  were 
shouting,  giggling,  groaning,  gabbling,  snarling,  and 
squeaking;  an  extraordinary  procession  to  pay  honour  to 
the  Pyramids  and  the  lonely  Sphinx. 

We  of  the  roof-party  considered  ourselves,  figuratively 
speaking,  above  camels,  far  above  donkeys,  and  scornful 
of  motor-cars,  in  which  it  was  irreverent  to  charge  up  to 
the  Great  Pyramid  as  if  to  the  door  of  a  cafe.  We  walked, 
and  Monny  still  lent  herself  to  me;  but  she  no  longer 
bubbled  over  with  delight  at  everything.  A  subdued 
mood  was  upon  her,  and  her  eyes  looked  sad,  even  anxious, 
in  the  translucent  light  w*hich  was  not  so  much  like  earthly 
moonlight  as  the  beginning  of  sunrise  in  some  far,  magic 
dreamland.  She  had  the  pathetic  air  of  a  spoiled  child 
who  begins  suddenly,  if  only  vaguely,  to  realize  that  it 
cannot  have  everything  it  wants  in  the  world.  And  she 
merely  smiled  when  I  told  her  how,  to  insure  the  peace  of 


180  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

the  desert,  I  had  offered  a  prize  of  a  large  blue  scarab  as 
big  as  a  paperweight,  for  that  member  of  the  Set  who  did 
not  even  say  "Oh!"  to  the  Sphinx.  "Antoun"  had  "vet- 
ted" the  alleged  scarab  and  pronounced  it  a  modern  for- 
gery; but  nobody  else  knew  that,  and  as  a  prize  it  was 
popular. 

The  sky  had  that  clear  pale  blue  of  dawn,  when  day  first 
realizes  that,  though  born  of  night,  it  is  no  longer  night. 
Casseopeia's  Chair  and  Orion  were  being  tossed  about  the 
burning  heavens  like  golden  furniture  out  of  a  house  on 
fire;  and  one  great  star- jewel  had  fallen  on  the  apex  of  cruel 
Khufu's  Pyramid.  I  should  have  liked  to  believe  it  was 
Sirius,  the  "lucky"  star  sacred  to  Isis  and  Hathor;  but 
Monny's  schoolgirl  knowledge  of  astronomy  bereft  me  of 
that  innocent  pleasure.  No  wonder  that  the  ancient  Egyp- 
tians, with  such  jewels  in  their  blue  treasure-house,  were 
famous  astrologers  and  astronomers  before  the  days  when 
Rameses'  daughter  found  Moses  in  the  bulrushes  of 
Roda  Island! 

The  stars  spoke  to  us  as  we  walked,  soft-footed,  through 
the  sand;  and  the  pure  wind  of  the  desert  spoke  other 
words  of  the  same  language,  the  language  of  the  Universe 
and  of  Nature.  Here  and  there  yellow  lights  in  a  distant 
camp  flashed  out  like  fireflies;  far  away  across  the  billowing 
sands,  rocks  bleached  like  bone  gave  an  effect  of  surf  on  an 
unseen  shore;  now  and  then  a  silent,  swift-moving  Arab 
stealing  out  of  shadow,  might  have  been  the  White  AYoman 
who  haunts  the  Sphinx,  hurrying  to  a  fatal  tryst:  and  the 
Great  Pyramid  seemed  to  float  between  desert  sand  and 
cloudless  sky  like  the  golden  palace  of  Aladdin  being  trans- 
ported through  air  by  the  Geni  of  the  Lamp.  There  never 


.     THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  FULL  MOON        181 

was  such  gold  as  this  gold  of  sand  and  pyramids,  under  the 
moon!  We  said  that  it  was  like  condensed  sun  rays,  so 
vivid,  so  bright,  that  the  moon  could  not  steal  its  colour. 
Cloudlike  white  figures  were  running  up  Khufu's  geome- 
tric mountain;  Arabs  expecting  money  when  they  should 
come  leaping  down,  whole  or  in  pieces.  And  the  khaki 
uniforms  of  British  soldiers  mounting  or  descending  for 
their  own  stolid  amusement,  made  the  Pyramid  itself 
seem  to  be  writhing,  so  like  was  the  colour  of  the  cloth 
to  that  of  the  stone.  No  use  being  angry  because  the 
monument  was  crawling  with  Tommies!  The  Pyramids 
were  as  much  theirs  as  ours.  And  probably  Napoleon's 
soldiers  spent  their  moonlit  evenings  in  the  same  way; 
a  thought  which  somehow  made  the  thing  seem  less  intol- 
erable. 

We  climbed  to  the  vast  platform  of  the  Ghizeh  Pyramids, 
and  then  plunged  into  the  billows  of  the  desert,  in  quest  of 
the  Sphinx.  Sir  Marcus  was  entitled  to  call  himself  the 
pioneer,  but  we  needed  no  one  to  show  us  the  way.  It 
was  but  too  clearly  indicated  by  the  bands  of  pilgrims,  go- 
ing or  returning.  And  among  the  latter  were  those  whom 
Monny  callously  referred  to  as  "poor  Lord  Ernest's  crowd." 
Miss  Hassett-Bean  and  the  Biddell  girls  made  us  linger, 
with  sand  trickling  over  the  tops  of  our  shoes,  while  they 
poured  into  our  ears  their  impressions  of  the  Sphinx. 
Miss  H.  B.  thought  that  She  (with  a  capital  S)  was  a 
combination  of  Goddess,  Prophetess,  and  Mystery.  Enid 
thought  she  was  like  an  Irish  washerwoman  making 
a  face;  and  Elaine  said  she  was  the  image  of  their  bulldog 
at  home.  Monny  (after  a  sandy  introduction)  listened 
to  these  verbal  vandalisms  in  horrified  silence.  I  could  see 


182  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

that  she  was  exerting  herself,  for  my  sake,  to  be  civil  to  my 
charges  (who  were  more  interested  in  her  than  they  had 
been  in  the  Sphinx),  and  that,  if  she  could  have  done  so 
without  hurting  their  feelings,  she  would  have  struck  them 
dead.  But  my  fears  that  their  mental  suggestions  might 
obsess  her  were  baseless.  She  did  not  speak  when  the 
golden  billows  parted  to  give  us  a  first  vision  of  the  great 
Mystery  of  the  Desert.  I  had  led  Monny  by  a  round- 
about way,  and  instead  of  seeing  the  Sphinx  from  the  back, 
we  came  upon  her  face  to  face,  as  she  gazed  with  her  won- 
derful, all-knowing  eyes,  straight  into  that  world  beyond 
knowledge  Which  lies  somewhere  east  of  the  moon. 
Veiled  by  the  night  in  silver  and  blue,  with  a  proud  lift 
of  the  head,  she  faced  past  and  future,  which  were  one 
for  her,  and  the  present,  nothing.  The  moon  gave  back 
for  a  few  hours  all  her  lost  loveliness,  of  which  men  had 
robbed  her,  seeming  miraculously  to  restore  the  broken 
features,  whole  and  beautiful  as  they  had  been  in  her  youth 
before  history  began.  It  was  as  if  in  the  moon's  rays  were 
silver  hands,  mending  the  marred  majesty,  giving  life  to 
the  eyes  and  to  the  haunting,  secret  smile.  I  thought  of 
the  story  of  King  Harmachis:  how  he  dreamed  that  the 
Sphinx  came  to  him,  saying  that  the  sand  pressed  upon 
her,  and  she  could  not  breathe.  Nobody  since  his  day 
had  for  long  left  her  buried! 

"What  does  it  mean  to  you?  "I  broke  the  silence  to 
ask. 

"I  don't  know, "  Monny  said.  "All  I  know  is  that  she's 
more  wonderful  than  I  expected,  and  as  beautiful  as  the 
loveliest  marble  Venus  of  Italy,  though  a  thousand  times 
greater  —  if  one  perfect  thing  can  be  greater  than  another. 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  FULL  MOON         183 

She's  so  great  that  I  don't  think  she  can  be  meant  to  be 
a  woman  —  or  even  a  man.  She  is  like  a  soul  carved  in 
stone. " 

"All  in  a  moment  you  have  guessed  the  riddle!"  I  ex- 
claimed, liking  and  understanding  the  girl  better  than  I 
had  liked  or  understood  her  yet.  "I  believe  that's  the 
secret  of  the  Sphinx.  The  king  who  had  this  stupendous 
idea,  and  caused  it  to  be  carried  out,  said  to  some  inspired 
sculptor,  'Make  for  me  from  the  rock  of  the  desert,  a 
portrait,  not  of  me  as  I  am  seen  by  men,  in  my  mortal  part 
or  Khat,  for  that  can  be  placed  elsewhere;  but  an  image  of 
my  real  self,  my  soul  or  Ka,  looking  past  the  small  things 
of  this  world  into  eternity,  which  lies  beyond  this  desert 
and  all  deserts.'  Then  the  sculptor  made  the  Sphinx,  and 
gave  it  such  grandeur,  such  mystery  of  countenance  that 
instinctively  the  souls  of  people  recognized  the  soul  look. 
You  have  a  soul,  and  it  told  you  the  secret.  Only  those 
who  have  no  souls  find  the  Sphinx  heavy  or  hideous,  or 
utterly  beyond  their  comprehension. " 

"Have  I  a  soul?  "  Monny  asked,  dreamily.  "Men  I've 
known  have  told  me  I  haven't.  Yet  sometimes  I've 
thought  I  felt  it  fluttering.  And  if  I  have  a  soul,  I  shall 
find  it  in  Egypt.  Oh,  I  shall!  Something  —  yes,  the 
Sphinx  herself!  —  tells  me  that. " 

I  was  tempted  to  ask  "  What  about  a  heart?  "  And  then 
—  in  a  violent  hurry,  before  anybody  came  —  to  mention 
my  own,  into  which  the  moon  seemed  pouring  a  little  of 
the  honey  it  had  brought  for  the  Sphinx.  I  did  feel  that 
some  one  owed  a  moonlight  proposal  under  the  Sphinx's 
nose  (or  the  place  where  its  nose  had  been)  to  such  a  girl 
as  Monny.  Her  Egyptian  experience  could  never  be  per- 


134 

feet  and  complete  unless  she  were  proposed  to  on  the  night 
of  the  full  moon,  with  the  Sphinx's  blessing;  and  as  no 
better  man  was  here  to  do  it,  I  could  not  be  thought  con- 
ceited if  I  took  the  duty  upon  myself.  Besides,  Brigit 
would  so  thoroughly  approve! 

"Look  here,  Biddy,  I  mean  Monny, "  I  began  hastily, 
"there's  something  I  want  to  tell  you,  something  very  im- 
portant you  ought  to  know,  because  matters  can't  go  on 
much  longer  as  they  are " 

"Is  it  something  about  'Antoun'?"  she  broke  in,  with  a 
little  gasp,  as  I  paused  for  breath  and  courage.  "If  it  is, 
maybe  I  know  it  already ! " 

Extraordinary,  the  relief  I  felt !  I  ought  to  have  suffered 
a  shock  of  disappointment,  because  I  couldn't  possibly 
finish  a  proposal  after  such  an  interruption.  But  instead, 
my  spirits  went  up  with  a  bound.  Probably,  however, 
that  was  because  her  hint  was  a  whip  to  my  curiosity. 
"What  do  you  know  about  'Antoun'?"  I  asked. 

Perhaps  I  forgot  to  lower  my  voice;  or  perhaps  voices 
carry  far  across  desert-spaces,  as  across  water.  Anyhow 
the  clear  tones  of  Cleopatra  answered  like  an  echo. 
"Antoun  —  Antoun!  I  hear  Lord  Ernest  calling. " 

Biddy  —  dear  little  matchmaking  Biddy  —  had  man- 
aged Sir  Marcus,  Bill  Bailey  and  Rachel,  as  a  circus  rider 
manages  three  spirited  white  horses  at  one  time.  The 
desert  was  her  ring,  and  she  had  reined  her  steeds  to  her 
will,  keeping  them  out  of  my  way  and  Monny's  at  all  costs, 
no  matter  whether  they  saw  the  Sphinx  in  back  view  or 
noseless  profile.  But  Mrs.  East's  principal  occupation 
in  life  was  not  to  get  me  engaged  to  the  Gilded  Rose. 
And  either  she  lost  her  presence  of  mind,  or  else  she  was  not 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  FULL  MOON        185 

so  much  enjoying  her  moonlight  tete-a-tete  with  Fenton, 
that  it  was  worth  while  to  hide  from  us  behind  a  sand 
dune. 

The  two  emerged  from  a  gulf  of  shadow,  Anthony  very 
splendid  under  the  moon,  a  true  man  of  the  desert.  I 
thought  I  heard  Monny  draw  in  a  little  sharp  breath  as 
she  saw  that  noble  incarnation  of  Egypt  (so  he  must  have 
seemed,  unless  she  knew  the  British  reality  of  him)  walking 
beside  Cleopatra. 

Then  up  came  the  others,  Sir  Marcus  impossible  to 
restrain;  and  we  all  talked  together  as  people  are  expected 
to  talk  when  they  have  come  thousands  of  miles  to  see  these 
monuments  of  Egypt.  Yes,  yes !  Wonderful  —  incredi- 
ble! Which  do  you  find  more  impressive,  the  Sphinx  or 
the  Pyramids?  Isn't  it  a  pity  they  let  the  temple  between 
the  paws  remain  buried?  And  aren't  the  Pyramids  just 
like  Titanic,  golden  beehives?  And  can't  you  simply  see 
the  swarming  builders,  like  bees  themselves,  working  for 
twenty  years? 

Thus  we  jabbered;  and  others,  many  others,  appeared 
to  dispute  the  scene  with  us,  to  break  the  magic  of  the 
moonlight,  and  to  puncture  the  vast  silence  of  the  desert 
with  their  cooings  and  gurglings  and  chatterings  in  Ger- 
man, English,  Arabic,  and  every  other  language  known 
since  the  Tower  of  Babel.  Arab  guides  lit  up  the  Sphinx 
with  flaring  magnesium,  an  impertinence  that  should  have 
made  hideous  with  hate  the  insulted  features,  but  instead 
turned  them  for  a  thrilling  instant  of  suspense  into  marble. 
Indeed,  none  of  our  petty  vulgarities  could  jar  or  even  fret 
the  majestic  calm  of  the  desert  and  the  stone  Mystery 
among  its  billows.  The  Sphinx  gazed  above  and  past  us 


186  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

all.  She  was  like  some  royal  captive  surrounded  by  a 
rabble  mob,  yet  as  undisturbed  in  soul  as  though  her  puny, 
hooting  tormentors  had  no  existence.  It  was  not  so  much 
that  she  scorned  us,  as  that  she  did  not  know  we  were  there. 

When  we  sorted  ourselves  out,  to  escape  Sir  Marcus, 
Cleopatra  deigned  to  make  use  of  me,  having  first  observed 
(with  burning  interest)  that  Monny  and  Rachel  were  with 
Bailey,  and  that  "Antoun"  was  pointing  things  out  to 
Brigit  O'Brien,  as  it  is  Man's  metier  (in  pictures  and  adver- 
tisements) to  point  things  out  to  Woman. 

"It's  been  a  wonderful  evening,"  Mrs.  East  said.  "It 
has  made  up  for  everything  I  suffered  last  night.  We 
brought  dinner  out  into  the  desert,  in  that  smallest  tea- 
basket,  you  know,  and  ate  it  together,  he  and  I  —  An- 
tony and  I.  There !  I  may  as  well  confess  that's  what  I 
call  him  to  myself,  for  I've  guessed  your  secret  —  and  his. 
But  don't  be  afraid.  I  won't  tell  a  soul.  It's  too  roman- 
tic and  fascinating  for  words  —  or  to  put  into  words.  He 
let  me  have  my  fortune  told  by  an  Arab  sand  diviner,  who 
came  while  we  were  at  dinner.  I  can't  repeat  to  you  what 
the  fortune-teller  said.  But  I  feel  as  if  I  were  living  in  a 
book.  Oh,  if  only  I  were  writing  it  myself  and  could 
make  everything  happen  just  as  I  want  it  to  happen!  Do 
you  know  one  thing  I  would  put  into  the  story?" 

"No,  I  can't  think,"  I  said,  rather  anxiously. 

"I  would  have  you  propose  to  Monny. " 

"Oh  —  by  Jove,  Mrs.  East!" 

"Why-  —  don't  you  admire  her?" 

"But  of  course.  She's  irresistible.  Only  she's  so 
horribly  rich.  And  besides,  she  doesn't  think  of  me  in  that 
way. " 


187 

"You  can't  be  sure.  Now,  Lord  Ernest,  I'm  going  to 
whisper  you  a  secret.  I  believe  —  I  really  do  —  that 
Monny  would  be  glad  if  you'd  propose.  If  I  were  in  your 
place,  if  I  liked  her,  I  would  do  so  as  soon  as  possible.  It 
might  save  her  from  humiliation  —  from  a  great  trouble. " 

Being  a  duffer,  I  could  only  say  once  again,  "By  Jove! " 


CHAPTER  XIII 
AN  UNDERGROUND  PROPOSAL 

I  DIDN'T  sleep  much  that  night,  for  thinking  of  Monny; 
and  when  I  did  sleep,  I  dreamed  of  her;  tangled  dreams,  in 
which  she  was  Monny  Gilder  with  Brigit  O'Brien's  eyes. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  she  liked  me?  Mrs.  East  ought 
to  know.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  to-morrow  I  would 
begin  by  feeling  my  way,  but  when  to-morrow  came  I  had 
no  time  to  feel  anything  which  concerned  my  private 
affairs. 

It  seemed,  or  so  I  was  told  "for  my  own  good"  by 
Miss  Hassett-Bean,  that  the  Candace  people  thought  it 
'snobby"  for  me  to  have  indulged  in  a  private  dinner- 
party, and  to  have  hustled  them  off  in  a  drove  to  the 
Sphinx  while  I  went  leisurely  with  my  smart  friends. 
They  knew  ah1  about  the  feast  on  the  roof,  and  were  of 
opinion  that  they  ought  to  have  been  there.  Did  I  con- 
sider my  American  heiress  better  than  they,  better  even 
than  the  family  of  an  ex-Lord  Mayor?  If  I  wished  to 
make  up  lost  ground,  I  must  devote  myself  to  duty,  and 
be  nicer  than  ever  to  everybody. 

This  was  one  of  the  moments  when  I  was  tempted  to 
throw  over  my  job;  but  I  remembered  the  reward,  and  set 
myself  once  more  to  the  earning  of  it.  For  the  next  few 
days  I  scarcely  saw  Monny  or  Brigit,  or  even  heard  what 

188 


AN  UNDERGROUND  PROPOSAL  189 

was  happening  to  them  —  for  they  had  "done"  the  princi- 
pal sights  of  Cairo,  and  I  (at  the  head  of  the  Candace 
crowd)  was  "doing"  them.  As  if  in  a  game  of  "Follow 
my  Leader,"  I  led  the  band«from  mosque  to  mosque;  not 
indeed  visiting  the  whole  two  hundred  and  sixty-four,  but 
calling  on  the  best  ones.  To  begin  with,  I  collected  the 
Set  on  the  height  of  the  Citadel,  which  commands  all 
Cairo,  the  platform  of  the  Pyramids  (not  only  the  Ghizeh 
Pryamids  but  the  sixty  odd  others,  which  newcomers  don't 
talk  about):  the  tawny  Mokattam  Hills,  and  the  silver- 
blue  serpent  of  the  Nile.  From  this  vantage  place  I 
pointed  out  the  things  we  had  to  see  in  the  city  spread  out 
below  us,  so  that  on  the  vaguest  minds  the  picture  might 
be  painted  in  its  entirety,  before  they  began  to  absorb 
details  on  that  mosaic  map  which  was  Cairo.  The  tombs 
of  the  Mamelukes,  strangely  shaped  monuments,  vague 
and  white  as  squatting  ghosts;  the  graves  of  the  Caliphs; 
the  historic  gates  of  el-Kahira;  and  the  many  ancient 
mosques,  whose  minarets  soared  against  the  blue  like  tall- 
stemmed  flowers  in  a  palace  garden. 

Mentally  fortified  by  this  bird's-eye  view  from  the 
Citadel  (of  course,  I  had  to  trot  them  up  again  for  the 
sunset),  my  charges  let  themselves  be  led  from  mosque  to 
mosque,  from  tomb  to  tomb.  Some,  possessed  with  a 
demoniac  desire  to  get  their  money's  worth  of  Egypt,  were 
unable  to  enjoy  any  sight,  in  their  nervous  dread  of  miss- 
ing some  other  spectacle,  which  people  at  home  might  ask 
them  about.  These  strained  their  wearied  intelligences  to 
see  more  than  they  possibly  could  at  any  one  moment,  un- 
less they  had  eyes  all  round  their  heads;  and  others,  of  an 
even  more  irritating  type,  never  lifted  the  few  eyes  they 


190  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

had  from  the  pages  of  guide-books.  I  liked  better  those 
who,  like  Monny,  frankly  said  that  they  didn't  wish  to 
have  their  minds  tidied  up,  and  be  told  a  string  of  things 
about  Egypt.  They  just  wanted  to  feel  the  things,  and 
let  them  slowly  soak  in.  And  the  nice,  lazy,  Southern 
Americans,  who  said  they  were  "tomb  shy,"  and  loitered 
about,  betting  from  one  to  six  scarabs  on  the  speed  of 
fleas,  or  donkeys,  while  I  whipped  forth  for  their  tired 
companions  a  dull  drove  of  facts  fattened  for  their 
benefit. 

Mosques  and  churches  and  tombs  had  to  be  visited,  bufc 
did  not  appeal  to  all  tastes.  The  Bazaars  did.  So  did 
the  Zoo,  more  fascinating  than  any  other  zoo,  because 
each  animal  has  its  trick,  or  pet,  or  plaything. 

As  an  excuse  to  see  Monny  and  the  rest  of  my  friends,  I 
got  up  a  moonlight  digging  expedition  at  Fustat,  those 
great  mounds  of  rubbish  and  buried  treasure  near  Egyp- 
tian Babylon  where  a  city  was  burnt  lest  it  should  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  Crusaders.  Monny  and  her  party  were 
invited  to  join  us,  and  accepted  the  invitation,  piloted  by 
"Antoun. "  And  concerning  this  entertainment,  I  had 
an  idea.  Those  who  choose  to  dig  among  these  desert- 
like  sandhills,  between  the  Coptic  churches  of  Babylon  and 
the  tombs  of  the  Mamelukes,  may  chance  on  something  of 
value,  especially  after  a  windstorm  or  a  landslip:  bits  of 
Persian  pottery,  fragments  of  iridescent  glass,  broken 
bracelets  of  enamel,  opaline  beads,  or  tiny  gods  and  god- 
desses. Why  should  I  not  (thought  I)  apportion  off  to 
each  member  of  the  band  his  or  her  own  digging  patch? 
This  would  save  squabbling,  and  would  provide  an  oppor- 
tunity for  me  to  propose  in  a  unique  way  to  Monny, 


AN  UNDERGROUND  PROPOSAL          191 

Regarding  the  idea  as  an  inspiration,  I  carried  it  out 
scientifically.  Helped  by  Anthony,  after  the  sun  had  set 
and  the  mounds  were  deserted,  I  staked  out  the  most 
promising " claims,  "and marked  each  space  with  the  name 
of  the  " miner"  for  whom  I  intended  it.  In  Monny's  patch, 
near  the  surface  where  she  could  not  possibly  miss  it,  I 
buried  a  letter  wrapped  round  a  cow-eared  head  of  Hathor 
which  I  had  bought  at  the  Egyptian  Museum-shop.  Now, 
in  justice  to  myself,  I  must  tell  you  that  this  letter  was  no 
common  letter,  such  as  any  Tom,  Dick,  or  Harry  may 
write  to  the  Mary  Jane  Smith  of  the  moment.  It  was  a 
missive  which  cost  me  midnight  electricity  and  brain- 
strain;  for  not  only  must  I  appeal  to  my  lady,  I  must  also 
suit  an  environment. 

Monny  had  taken  up  the  study  of  hieroglyphics,  in 
order  to  appreciate  intelligently  the  tombs  and  temples  of 
the  Nile.  She  had  bought  books,  and  was  learning  with 
the  energy  of  a  stenographer,  to  write  and  read.  She 
wrote  out  exercises,  and  submitted  them  for  correction  to 
"Antoun"  who,  as  an  Egyptian,  was  to  be  considered  an 
authority.  "Of  course,"  she  explained  to  me,  "one  comes 
here  thinking  that  all  Egyptians  nowadays,  even  Copts, 
are  Arabs.  But  he  says  that  Egyptians  are  as  Egyptian 
as  they  ever  were,  because  Arab  invasion  has  left  little 
more  trace  in  their  blood  than  the  Romans  left  in  the  blood 
of  the  English.  It  interests  me  much  more  to  feel  when 
I'm  in  Egypt  that  I'm  among  real  Egyptians." 

With  this  in  my  mind,  I  was  convinced  that  a  love  letter 
in  hieroglyphics,  unearthed  by  moonlight  in  the  mounds 
of  Fustat,  would  please  Monny. 

The  difficulty  was  that,  though  I  could  speak  Arabic 


192  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

fairly  well,  I  hardly  knew  the  difference  betweeen  hiero- 
glyphic, hieratic  and  demotic  forms;  but  the  limited  sym- 
bols I  was  able  to  employ  were  so  strong  in  themselves 
that  a  few  would  go  a  long  way :  and  if  they  were  not  as 
correct  as  the  sentiments  they  expressed,  Monny  was 
not  herself  a  mistress  of  hieroglyphic  style.  I  could  find 
no  hieroglyphic  suit  in  which  to  clothe  the  name  Ernest; 
but  since  I  had  become  keeper  of  men,  mice,  and  morals  in 
Sir  Marcus  Lark's  floating  zoo,  Monny 's  craze  for  Egyp- 
tianizing  everything  had  suggested  the  nickname  of  Men- 
Kheper-Ra.  She  sometimes  called  me  Ra  for  short, 
therefore  I  now  ventured  to  divert  to  my  own  uses  a  sign 
and  cartouche  once  the  property  of  a  "son  of  the  Sun," 
and  King  of  Egypt: 


Translation:  Beautiful  Queen,  Star  (of)  My  Heart  (and)  Soul. 
Give  Me  (your)  Love.  Become  My  Wife  (and)  Goddess  (for) 
Eternity.  Men-Kheper-(Ka)  Ra. 


AN  UNDERGROUND  PROPOSAL          193 

I  patted  myself  on  the  back,  put  the  letter  in  the  ground; 
and  the  digging  party  was  a  wild  success;  but  time  passed 
on,  and  I  had  no  answer.  What  I  expected  was  a  reply  in 
kind,  an  hieratic  acceptance  or  a  demotic  refusal;  either 
one  would  be  good  practice  for  Monny.  But  not  a  hiero- 
glyph of  any  description  came.  I  had  to  go  on  as  if  noth- 
ing had  happened.  To  be  ignored  was  less  tolerable  than 
being  refused.  Monny's  silence  began  to  get  upon  my 
nerves;  and  to  make  matters  worse,  there  was  that  desert 
trip  hanging  over  my  head.  I  knew  even  less  about  organ- 
izing a  desert  trip  than  I  knew  about  hieroglyphics;  yet  it 
had  to  be  done.  As  Sir  Marcus  said  it  was  "up  to  me"  to 
do  it  so  well  that  Cook  would  look  sick.  Anthony  was 
absorbed  in  secret  official  duties  and  open,  unofficial 
duties.  His  was  a  great  "thinking"  part,  and  our  occupa- 
tions kept  us  apart  rather  than  brought  us  together.  On 
the  one  occasion  when  we  were  alone,  he  devoted  four  out 
of  five  minutes  to  telling  me  what  he  had  learned  of  the 
night  disturbance  in  front  of  the  House  of  the  Crocodile. 
"A  Britisher  of  sorts"  had  come  into  the  street,  guided  by 
an  Arab.  There  had  been  some  dispute  about  payment, 
and  the  Britisher  had  slapped  the  dragoman's  face.  This 
had  been  followed,  as  he  might  have  known  it  would,  with 
a  stab;  a  crowd  had  assembled,  and  scattered  before  the 
police;  the  stabbed  one  had  gone  to  hospital,  the  stabber  to 
prison.  Altogether  it  was  not  surprising  that  Mansoor, 
the  suspicious  caretaker,  had  feared  a  trap,  and  closed  his 
doors.  Bedr  el  Gemaly,  now  one  of  the  great  unemployed, 
had  been  seen  near  the  hospital  where  the  injured  man 
lay;  but  he  had  taken  the  alarm  and  departed  without 
inquiring  for  the  invalid's  health;  or  else  his  being  in  that 


194  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

neighbourhood  was  a  coincidence.  The  name  of  the  man 
knifed  was  Burke,  and  London  was  given  as  his  address. 
He  was  between  thirty -five  and  forty,  and  according  to  the 
arrested  dragoman  was  "not  a  gentleman,  but  a  tourist." 
His  hurt  was  not  severe:  and  as  the  Arab  had  been  exas- 
perated by  a  blow,  the  punishment  would  not  be  excessive. 

When  at  length  I  had  seized  the  last  remaining  minute  to 
put  the  question,  "Do  you  think  Miss  Gilder  has  found 
out  who  you  really  are?  "  Fenton  seemed  astonished. 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  it  at  all,"  he  answered  simply. 
"She's  giving  me  too  many  other  things  to  think  of. " 

"What  kind  of  things?"  I  stealthily  inquired. 

"Oh,"  —  with  an  evasive  air  —  "I  don't  know  what 
to  make  of  her  yet.  But  I  haven't  given  up  my  silly 
scheme. " 

"What  silly  scheme?" 

"Antoun"  looked  almost  sulky.  "Well,  if  you've 
forgotten,  I  won't  remind  you.  It's  absurd;  it's  even 
brutal;  and  I'm  ashamed  of  it.  But  I  stick  to  it." 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN 

I  FOUND  out  why  Monny  paid  no  attention  to  my  buried 
letter.  But  the  way  in  which  I  found  it  out  (and  sev- 
eral other  things  at  the  same  time)  is  part  of  the  desert 
trip. 

I  am  not  a  man  whose  soul  turns  to  diaries  for  consola- 
tion; but  I  did  keep  up  a  bowing  acquaintance  with  a 
notebook  in  Egypt  —  it  helped  me  with  my  lectures  — 
and  in  the  desert  it  relieved  my  feelings.  Looking  over 
the  desert  pages,  I'm  tempted  to  give  them  as  they  stand: 

Black  Friday:  Morning.  The  start's  for  Monday,  and 
nothing  done!  Could  I  develop  symptoms  of  creeping 
paralysis,  and  throw  the  responsibility  on  Anthony?  But 
too  late  for  that  now;  and  he  may  have  to  stay  on  in 
Cairo  for  a  day  or  two.  Why  did  I  leave  my  peaceful 
home?  It's  the  lure  of  the  Mountain  of  the  Golden 
Pyramid.  Last  night  before  I  went  to  bed,  read  over  my 
copy  of  Ferlini's  letters,  to  gain  courage.  Gained  it  for  a 
little;  but  when  I  think  of  that  desert  I'm  supposed  to  turn 
into  a  happy  playground  for  trippers,  and  not  a  tent  hired 
or  a  prune  bought,  or  an  egg  laid,  for  all  I  know,  I  wish 
Anthony  and  I  had  let  Lark  stick  to  our  mountain. 

This  is  Lark's  fault  anyhow.  He  sprang  the  thing  on 
me.  Said  it  would  be  easy  as  falling  off  a  log.  Said  Cairo 

195 


196  IT  HAPPENED  IX  EGYPT 

was  full  of  Arabs  whose  mission  in  life  was  supplying  tents 
and  utensils  for  desert  tours.  People  would  be  charmed 
with  simple  life,  and  me  as  universal  provider.  All  I  had 
to  do  was  to  supply  cheap  editions  of  "The  Garden  of 
Allah,"  and  plenty  of  dates;  and  hint  that  it  was  con- 
sidered vulgar  in  the  Best  Circles  to  put  on  Peche  Melba 
airs  in  the  desert.  With  a  few  quotations,  I  should  make 
them  content  with  a  loaf  of  bread,  a  cup  of  wine,  and 
Thing-um-Bob.  Why,  they'd  be  falling  in  love  with  each 
other  under  the  desert  stars,  and  my  principal  occupation 
would  be  saying,  "Bless  you,  my  children! " 

Sounded  neat;  and  I  remembered  that,  according  to 
Brigit,  Monny  wanted  the  "  desert  to  take  her. "  Thought 
it  might  be  useful  if  I  were  on  in  that  act.  Abyssmal 
beast  of  a  dragoman  who  lurks  round  Mena  House  buoyed 
me  up  with  false  hopes.  Said  he  had  a  fine  outfit  which 
he  let,  and  threw  himself  in  as  guide.  Plenty  of  every- 
thing (including  cheek)  for  fifteen  people,  the  exact  num- 
ber who  have  put  down  their  names  to  go.  (Some  girls 
and  parents  are  staying  for  a  ball  at  the  Semiramis,  where 
I've  tearfully  persuaded  the  only  soft-hearted  officers 
I  know  to  dance  with  them  —  otherwise  the  lot  would 
have  been  on  my  hands  in  the  desert.)  Had  so  much  to  do 
yesterday  taking  the  crowd  to  Matariyeh,  where  the  Holy 
Family  hid  in  a  hollow  tree,  that  I  had  no  time  to  look 
at  the  Arab's  outfit.  Was  inclined  to  save  trouble  and 
trust  him,  but  saw  Anthony  a  minute  last  night;  he  urged 
me  to  inspect  everything.  Did  so  early  this  morning. 
Rotten  outfit:  tents  like  old  patchwork  quilts,  pots  and 
pans,  etc.,  probably  bought  job  lot  from  Noah  when  the 
Ark  was  docked.  Those  keenest  on  desert  "taking "  them, 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  197 

will  be  mad  as  hatters  if  it  takes  them  in.  Suppose  I'll 
have  to  interview  hah*  the  Arabs  in  Cairo  to-day.  Wish 
I  had  a  Ka  or  Ba  or  whatever  you  get  for  an  astral  body  in 
Egypt,  and  I  could  say  to  it,  "Here,  my  dear  chap,  I 
trust  you  to  do  this  job  while  I  stay  in  Cairo  and  rest  my 
features. "  Then  he'd  get  the  blame,  and  I'd  disappear, 
never  to  be  seen  again.  Or  if  he  were  a  Ka  with  Cook 
accomplishments,  maybe  he'd  bring  the  thing  off  all 
right,  in  which  case  I  could  turn  up  and  take  the  credit 
and  marry  Monny.  Happy  thought!  Cook!  Why 
shouldn't  I  sneak  to  Cook,  and  inquire  in  a  careless  way 
if  they  publish  any  pamphlet  on  "How  to  Do  a  Desert 
Tour." 

Later:  Have  been  to  Cook.  No  pamphlet,  but  a  friend 
in  need.  Talk  of  casting  bread  on  the  waters!  In  Rome 
I  cast  a  crust  which  I  didn't  want,  and  it's  come  back  in 
Cairo  with  butter  and  sugar  on  it. 

Must  have  been  two  years  ago  in  Rome  when  a  young 
chap  wrote  to  me  to  the  Embassy.  Said  he'd  been  dis- 
appointed in  getting  work  he'd  come  abroad  for,  had  seen 
my  name,  recognized  it,  was  from  my  county;  and  could 
I  use  him  as  a  stenographer  or  anything?  I  couldn't; 
but  I  found  him  some  one  who  could;  and  forgot  him  till  I 
saw  him  this  morning  a  fully  fledged  clerk  at  Cook's. 
Checking  the  impulse  to  fall  on  his  neatly  striped  blue  and 
white  bosom,  I  invited  him  to  lunch;  and  as  a  reward  for 
what  he  calls  "past  and  present  favours,"  he  had  given  me 
new  life.  What  I  mean  to  say  is,  he's  promised  to  provide 
me  not  only  with  tents,  but  camels  and  camel-boys  and  a 
camp  ch^f ,  and  waiters  and  washbowls  and  a  desert  drago- 
man, and  thousands  of  things  I'd  never  thought  of.  It 


198  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

seems  practically  certain  that  since  Napoleon  no  such 
genius  has  been  born  as  Slaney.  Cleopatra  would  say 
that  S.  is  the  reincarnation  of  Napoleon;  but  neither  Cleo- 
patra nor  any  one  else  —  above  all,  Sir  Marcus  Lark  —  is 
to  know  of  his  existence.  Such  is  the  disinterested  self- 
sacrifice  of  this  buttered-and-sugared  Crust,  that  it  will 
do  everything  for  me,  while  keeping  itself  and  the  Organi- 
zation which  controls  it,  completely  in  the  background. 
The  Organization  is  too  great  to  mind;  and  the  Crust,  alias 
T.  Slaney,  thinks  itself  too  small. 

Lark,  Ltd.,  considers  himself  a  budding  rival  of  the  firm 
of  Cook;  but  a  deadly  bud.  If,  however,  Sir  M.  should 
come  to  hear  that  I  had  flown  for  succour  to  the  enemy's 
camp,  I  fear  it  would  be  all  over  with  the  bargain  for  which 
Anthony  and  I  are  selling  our  souls.  T.  Slaney  says  he 
never  shall  know.  He  guarantees  that  Cook  labels  and 
other  telltale  marks  shall  be  removed  from  everything, 
though  time  is  short  and  there  is  much  to  do.  He  will  be 
the  power  behind  the  tents,  and  I  will  be  in  them,  absorb- 
ing all  the  credit. 

Saturday:  All  couleur  de  Rose,  thanks  to  Slaney. 
Should  like  to  get  him  canonized.  Many  less  worthy  men, 
now  deceased,  have  been  given  the  right  to  put  Saint  be- 
fore their  names.  He  has  handed  me  a  list,  something 
less  than  a  mile  long,  of  articles  which  Biddy  and  I,  as 
children,  used  to  call  eaties  and  drinkies.  He  has  told  me 
where  the  things  can  be  bought,  and  has  written  a  letter 
of  introduction  which  secures  me  "highest  consideration 
and  lowest  prices."  Also  he  has  suggested  a  medicine- 
chest,  packs  of  cards,  the  newest  games,  cigarettes  suited 
to  European  and  Arab  tastes,  picture  post-cards  01 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  199 

scenes;  ink,  pens,  and  writing  paper.  "People  forget 
everything  they  want  on  these  trips,  but  you  mustn't," 
said  he.  I  have  acted  on  all  his  suggestions,  and  feel  as 
proud  as  if  I  had  originated  them  myself. 

Sunday:  My  precious  friend  Slaney  has  made  a  large 
collection  of  Arabs,  camels,  tents,  etc.,  and  ordered  every- 
thing, animate  and  inanimate,  to  assemble  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Mena  House  this  afternoon,  in  order  to  be 
inspected  by  me,  and  to  be  ready  for  a  start  early  to- 
morrow morning.  We  are  to  have  a  sandcart  with  a 
desert  horse  for  Cleopatra,  who  has  tried  a  camel  and 
found  it  wanting.  I  fancy  she  thinks  a  sandcart  the  best 
modern  substitute  for  a  chariot;  and  at  worst,  it  ought  to  be 
as  comfortable.  Slaney  has  promised  a  yellow  one  — 
cart,  not  horse.  The  horse,  by  request,  is  to  be  white. 
The  other  ladies  are  having  camels.  I  daren't  think  of 
Miss  Hassett-Bean  at  the  end  of  the  week.  The  men,  also, 
will  camel.  There  is,  indeed,  no  alternative  between 
camelling  and  sandcarting  —  sandcarting  not  recom- 
mended by  the  faculty  but  insisted  upon  by  Cleopatra. 
Hope  it  will  work  out  all  right;  and  am  inclined  to  be 
optimistic.  A  week  in  the  desert  and  the  flowery  oasis  of 
the  Fayum,  with  the  two  most  charming  women  in  Egypt! 
There  will  be  others,  but  there's  a  man  each,  and  more.  I 
shall  have  to  look  after  Monny  and  Brigit,  as  Anthony  is 
having  his  hands  full  with  Cleopatra  lately,  and,  besides, 
he  can't  start  with  us.  Something  keeps  him  in  Cairo 
for  two  days  more,  and  he  will  have  to  join  us  near 
Tomieh. 

Sunday  Evening:  Back  from  Great  Pyramid,  where  I 
went  to  inspect  the  assembling  army.  Magnificent  is  the 


200  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

only  word!  The  camels  fine  animals,  but  Anthony  has 
provided  the  three  best,  borrowing  these  aristocrats  of  the 
camel  world  from  Major  Gunter  of  the  Coast  Guard. 
They  have  chased  hasheesh  smugglers,  and  have  seen 
desert  fighting.  Were  snarling  horribly  when  I  was  intro- 
duced, but  a  snarl  as  superior  to  the  common  snarls  of 
baggage-camels  as  their  legs  are  superior  in  shape.  Biddy, 
Monny,  Mrs.  East,  and  Rachel  Guest  were  there  with  Sir 
M.  and  "Antoun,"  having  been  inside  the  pyramid  and 
up  to  the  top.  Monny  on  her  high  horse  because  "An- 
toun" says  it  will  be  better  for  the  ladies  to  ride  the  bag- 
gage-camels. The  others  take  his  word,  meekly,  but  she 
persists,  and  Anthony  agrees  to  give  her  the  camel  he  had 
meant  to  ride,  the  one  supposed  to  be  the  most  spirited. 
When  he  joins  us,  he  will  have  the  animal  intended  for  her. 
When  this  bargain  was  struck  between  them  I  thought 
his  eyes  looked  dangerous,  but  she  didn't  notice  or  didn't 
care. 

Fenton  tells  me  he  has  dreamed  again  of  the  red-faced 
man  with  the  purple  moustache.  I  laughed  at  his  bugbear 
and  flung  Colonel  Corkran  in  his  teeth.  By  the  way,  noth- 
ing has  been  heard  of  C.  by  any  of  us  since  the  day  he 
handed  in  his  resignation.  Suppose  he  has  gone  back  to 
England  in  the  sulks. 

Monday  Night:  I  am  writing  in  my  tent,  which  is  to 
be  shared  with  Anthony  when  he  arrives.  I  feel  years 
older  than  when  we  started  this  morning.  Middle  age 
seems  to  have  overtaken  me.  If  I  keep  on  at  this  rate, 
shall  be  a  centenarian  by  the  time  we  get  back  to  Cairo. 

We  made  a  splendid  caravan  at  the  start.  Besides  the 
train  of  camels  ridden  by  my  party  from  the  Candace 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  201 

and  Monny  Gilder  with  her  satellites  (it  goes  against  the 
grain,  though,  to  call  a  bright  particular  star  like  Biddy  a 
satellite),  there  were  over  thirty  gigantic  beasts  laden 
with  our  numerous  bedroom,  kitchen,  luncheon,  and 
dinner-tents,  tent-pegs,  cooking-stove,  food  for  humans, 
fodder  for  animals,  casks  of  water,  mattresses,  folding-beds, 
other  tent  furniture,  tourists'  luggage,  and  so  on.  I  was 
happy  till  after  the  baggage-train  had  got  away,  each 
camel  with  its  head  roped  to  the  tail  of  the  one  ahead,  all 
trailing  off  toward  the  distant  Pyramids  of  Sakkhara  well 
in  advance  of  us.  Each  camel  looked  like  a  house-moving. 
On  top  of  the  kitchen-camel's  load  was  perched  the  chef, 
a  singularly  withered  old  gentleman  with  black  and  blue 
complexion,  clad  in  a  vague,  flying  blanket.  (Has  been 
Turkish-coffee  man  in  Paris  hotels.)  Many  other  negroid 
persons  in  white  with  large  turbans;  a  few  cafe  au  lait 
Arabs;  these  all  counted  beforehand  by  Slaney,  for  me, 
and  identified  as  assistant-cooks,  waiters,  bed-makers,  and 
camel-men,  enough  apparently  to  stock  a  village.  But 
we  had  one  surprise  at  the  moment  of  starting  in  the  form 
of  a  bright  black  child,  clad  in  white,  with  a  white  skull 
cap  and  a  flat  profile  evidently  copied  from  the  Sphinx. 
I  don't  know  yet  why  this  Baby  Sphinx  has  come  or  who  he 
is;  but  he  rode  on  the  kitchen-camel's  tail,  hanging  on  by 
the  bread  (our  bread !)  which  was  in  a  bag. 

When  this  cavalcade  had  wound  away,  the  camels  mak- 
ing blue  heart-shaped  tracks  in  the  yellow  sand,  it  was  our 
turn  to  start.  Not  one  of  us  would  have  changed  places 
with  any  old  Egyptian  king  or  queen,  and  we  did  not  feel 
vulgar  for  doing  this  trip  in  luxury,  because  ancient  royal- 
ties had  done  the  same,  and  so  do  the  great  sheikhs  of  the 


202  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

desert  even  now.  As  I  put  Cleopatra  into  the  sandcart 
with  its  broad,  iron-rimmed  wheels,  she  was  recalling  the 
days  when  she  travelled  with  a  train  of  asses  in  order  to 
have  milk  for  her  bath.  I  suggested  a  modern  condensed 
substitute,  but  the  offer  was  not  received  in  the  spirit  with 
which  it  was  made.  Now  to  get  the  ladies  on  their  camels, 
after  which  we  men  would  vault  upon  our  animals,  and 
wind  away  among  billowing  dunes  full  of  shadowy  ripples 
and  high  lights,  like  cream-coloured  velvet ! 

But  just  here  arose  the  first  small  cloud  in  the  blue. 
It  was  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  for  it  was  the  exact  size 
and  shape  of  Miss  Hassett-Bean's  hat.  It  was  a  largish 
hat  of  imitation  Panama  trimmed  with  green  veiling,  just 
the  hat  for  a  post-card  desert  all  pink  sunset  and  no  wind. 
As  she  was  about  to  mount  the  squatting  camel,  a  breeze 
blew  the  flap  over  her  eyes.  This  prevented  Miss  H.  B. 
from  seeing  that  the  camel  had  turned  its  neck  to  look 
at  her;  and  so,  as  she  reached  the  saddle  and  the  hat 
blew  up,  lady  and  camel  met  face  to  face.  It  was  a  moment 
of  suspense,  for  neither  liked  the  other  at  first  sight.  The 
camel  began  to  gurgle  its  throat  in  a  threatening  manner, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  rise.  Miss  Hassett-Bean,  staring 
into  two  quivering  nostrils  shaped  like  badly  made 
purses,  shrieked,  forgot  whether  she  must  first  bend  for- 
ward or  bend  back,  bent  in  the  way  she  ought  not  to  hava 
bent,  and  fell  upon  the  sand.  I  don't  quite  see  why  I  was 
to  blame  for  this  result,  but  she  saw,  and  said  I  ought  to 
have  warned  her  what  a  vile  creature  a  camel  was.  Noth- 
ing would  induce  her  to  try  again.  She  would  go  to  any 
extreme  rather  than  ride  a  beast  with  a  snake  for  a  neck, 
and  a  nasty  unsympathetic  face  full  of  green  juice  which  it 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  203 

spit  out  at  you.  She  w^s  used  to  being  liked.  She  simply 
couldn't  go  about  on  a  thing  which  would  never  love  her, 
and  she  wouldn't  want  it  to  if  it  did.  She  would  go  home 
or  else  she  would  have  a  sandcart.  All  the  neighbouring 
sandcarts  were  engaged;  but  fortunately  "Antoun  Eff- 
endi"  appeared  at  that  instant  (he'd  taxied  out  to  see  us 
off),  and  he  persuaded  Cleopatra  to  let  Miss  Hassett- 
Bean  drive  with  her.  The  desert  horse,  feeling  this  extra 
weight,  looked  round  almost  as  unsympathetically  as  the 
camel  had;  but  nobody  paid  the  slightest  attention  except 
his  attendant,  who  was  to  lead  him:  a  type  of  negro  "Nut,'* 
who  had  a  snobbish  habit  of  reddening  his  nails  with 
henna. 

By  this  time  a  crowd  had  assembled,  kept  in  check  by 
the  tall,  blue-robed  sheikh  of  the  Pyramids.  It  con- 
sisted mostly  of  Arabs  determined  to  take  our  photographs 
or  sell  us  scarabs  —  which  Miss  Hassett-Bean  refused  on 
the  ground  that  she  disliked  things  off  dead  people.  But 
on  the  fringe  lurked  a  few  Europeans,  amused  to  see  so 
large  a  caravan  setting  forth;  and  the  men  of  our  party, 
hitherto  proud  of  their  curtained  helmets  and  desert  get- 
up,  became  self-conscious  under  a  fire  of  snapshots. 

"Hello,  my  Boy  Scout!"  I  was  hailed  by  Sir  Marcus, 
arriving  three  minutes  behind  Anthony,  and  on  the  same 
errand.  This  blow  to  my  self-esteem  fell  as  I  was  leading 
Monny  to  the  white  camel  which  was  hers  and  should  have 
been  Anthony's.  She  laughed  —  I  suppose  she  couldn't 
help  it.  I  couldn't  myself,  if  it  had  been  Harry  Snell  or 
Bill  Bailey;  but  as  it  was,  my  pride  of  khaki  helmet, 
knickers,  and  puttees  collapsed  like  a  burst  balloon.  I 
seemed  to  feel  the  calves  of  my  legs  wither.  It  was  in  this 


204  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

mood  that  I  had  to  put  Monny  on  that  coast-guard  camel, 
while  "Antoun"  stood  looking  on.  He  did  not  offer  to 
help  the  girl,  as  their  talk  yesterday  on  the  subject  of 
baggage-camels  versus  running  camels  had  not  conduced 
to  officiousness. 

Monny  was  in  white :  broad  white  helmet  such  as  women 
wear,  white  suede  shoes,  white  silk  stockings,  and  a  lot 
of  lacy,  garden-party  things  that  showed  frills  when  she 
flew,  birdlike,  onto  the  cushioned  saddle.  "  That's  the 
way  to  do  it!"  I  heard  her  cry,  exultantly  —  and  what 
happened  next  I  can't  say,  for  the  white  camel  knocked 
me  over  as  it  bounded  up,  jerking  its  nose  rope  from  the 
leader's  hand,  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  it  was  making 
for  the  horizon.  I  hadn't  been  on  a  camel  since  I  was 
four,  if  then,  so  it  was  useless  to  follow.  But  while  I  stood 
spitting  out  sand,  Anthony  flung  himself  onto  one  of  the 
swift  coastguard  beasts,  and  was  after  her  like  a  streak 
of  four-legged  lightning.  None  of  us  had  the  nerve  to 
continue  our  operations  until,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later, 
they  appeared  from  behind  the  Great  Pyramid,  coming  at 
a  walk,  "Antoun"  holding  the  bridle  of  Monny 's  camel. 

I  saw  by  Fenton's  face  that  he  intended  to  make  no 
suggestions,  and  I  guessed  that  he  was  practising  his 
chosen  method.  If  Miss  Gilder  wished  for  anything  she 
must  ask  for  it,  and  ask  for  it  humbly  if  she  expected  to 
get  it. 

Her  face,  too,  was  a  study.  She  was  pale  and  even 
piteous.  I  thought  there  were  tears  in  the  blue-gray  eyes; 
and  if  I  had  been  Anthony  I  could  not  have  hardened  my 
heart.  Pride  or  no  pride,  I  should  have  begged  her  to 
abandon  this  praiseworthy  adventure,  and  deign  to 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  205 

mount  the  baggage  brute.  .Not  so  Anthony.  He  led 
back  the  camel,  with  Monny  limply  sitting  on  it,  and 
when  it  had  calmed  down  at  sight  of  its  friends  he  retired 
into  the  background. 

"How  wonderful  that  you  kept  on,  darling!"  exclaimed 
Biddy. 

"I  didn't,"  said  Monny.  Then  she  turned  to  "An- 
toun,"  who  remained  on  his  beast,  in  case  of  another  emer- 
gency, or  because  he  did  not  wish  to  be  looked  down  upon 
by  her.  He  was  rather  glorious  enthroned  on  his  camel, 
the  only  one  of  our  party  who  was  truly  "in"  the  desert 
picture.  I  didn't  blame  him  for  stopping  up  there  on  his 
sheepskin,  eye  to  eye  with  the  girl. 

For  a  moment  Monny  did  not  speak.  She  was 
evidently  hesitating  what  to  do,  but  common  sense  and 
natural  sweetness  got  the  better  of  false  pride.  "An- 
toun,  you  were  right,  and  I  was  wrong,"  she  admitted. 
"I  said  yesterday  that  you  were  selfish,  keeping  the 
coastguard  camels  for  yourself  and  Lord  Ernest  and 
General  Harlow,  and  giving  us  women  the  baggage  ones. 
Now  I'm  sorry.  I  was  silly  and  hateful.  I  wouldn't  ride 
another  fifty  yards  on  this  demon  for  fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars. He's  nearly  broken  my  back,  and  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  you,  he  would  quite  have  done  it.  Please  help  me  off, 
and  put  me  on  any  old  baggage  thing  that  nobody  else 
wants." 

Anthony's  eyes  lit  for  an  instant,  from  satisfaction  as  a 
man,  or  from  Christian  joy  in  her  moral  improvement. 
He  sprang  off  his  sky-scraping  camel,  brought  Monny's 
animal  to  its  knees,  helped  her  off,  and  motioned  to  the 
Arab  attendant  of  the  Ugly  Duckling  of  all  the  other 


206  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

creatures.  It  gave  the  effect  of  being  a  cross  between  a 
camel  and  an  ostrich,  and  had  been  chosen  by  "Antoun" 
as  his  own  mount,  when  he  surrendered  the  aristocrat  to 
Monny. 

"Oh,  dearest,  I  can't  have  you  ride  that  grasshopper!" 
cried  Biddy.  'Antoun'  took  it  for  himself  very  kindly 
because  it's  the  worst.  And  I  don't  care  any  more  than 
he  did.  Give  the  thing  to  me,  and  take  my  one,  that 
dear  creature  with  the  blue  bead  necklace. " 

But  Anthony  answered  for  Monny.  "Mademoiselle 
Gilder  made  a  bargain  with  me  yesterday,"  he  said.  "If 
she  failed  in  what  she  wanted  to  do,  she  was  to  do  what  / 
wanted  her  to  do.  I  think  she  will  wish  to  keep  her 
bargain. " 

"I'm  sure  I  wish  to, "  added  Monny. 

With  a  chastened,  not  to  say  shattered  air,  she  curled 
herself  up  on  the  sheepskin-covered  cushion  which  was  the 
ugly  Duckling's  saddle.  This  time  it  was  "Antoun"  who 
settled  her  into  place,  with  her  feet  meekly  crossed;  and 
the  caricature  of  a  camel  rose  like  a  sofa  at  a  spiritualistic 
seance.  Strange  to  say,  however,  when  all  were  ready 
to  start,  Monny  appeared  more  comfortably  lodged  than 
any  of  the  camel-riding  ladies;  and  the  thought  entered 
my  mind  that  perhaps  Anthony  had,  with  extreme 
subtlety,  taken  this  roundabout  way  of  benefiting  Miss 
Gilder. 

After  this  we  got  off  with  only  a  few  minor  mishaps. 
The  one  remaining  incident  of  note  was  the  arrival  on  the 
scene,  as  we  left  it,  of  another  caravan  —  a  small  caravan 
consisting  of  two  Europeans  —  a  few  laden  camels,  and 
camel-boys  marshalled  by  one  dragoman.  The  dragoman 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  207 

was  Bedr  el  Gemaly,  and  he  smiled  at  us  as  affectionately 
as  though  we  had  not  driven  him  from  us  in  disgrace. 

"How  forgiving  Arabs  are,  even  when  they're  not  con- 
verted!" remarked  Rachel  Guest,  by  whose  side  I  hap- 
pened to  be  riding. 

" He  isn't  an  Arab, "  said  I.  "He's  an  Armenian.  And 
both  are  supposed  to  be  the  reverse  of  forgiving.  But 
he's  found  another  job  quickly,  so  he  can  afford  to  let  by- 
gones be  bygones. " 

"Oh,  he  would  anyway! "  Miss  Guest  exclaimed,  warmly. 
"Poor  fellow,  you've  all  done  him  a  great  injustice,  but 
I'm  thankful  he's  not  going  to  suffer  for  it.  I  wonder  if  he 
and  his  people  are  bound  the  same  way  we  are?" 

I  feared  that  this  was  likely  to  be  the  case,  as  we  were 
going  the  conventional  round,  sticking  —  as  one  might  say 
—  to  suburban  desert,  on  our  way  to  the  Fayum.  But,  as 
Monny  observed  the  other  night,  we  couldn't  engage  the 
desert  like  a  private  sitting-room.  I  would,  however, 
have  preferred  sharing  it  with  most  people  rather  than 
Bedr  and  his  clients,  though  the  two  latter  looked  singu- 
larly harmless,  almost  Germanic. 

We  went  on  more  or  less  happily,  though  I  noticed  that 
whenever  a  camel  changed  its  walk  for  a  trot,  each  one  of 
the  ladies  reached  back  a  desperate  hand  to  clutch  the 
saddle  and  save  her  spine  from  the  bruising  bump !  bump ! 
which  smote  the  bone  with  every  step.  As  for  me,  that 
feeling  of  middle  age  began  to  creep  on  while  my  coast- 
guard camel  and  I  were  getting  acquainted.  I  tried 
to  distract  my  thoughts  from  the  end  of  my  spine,  by 
concentrating  them  in  admiration  upon  the  scene.  There 
was  the  Sphinx  welcoming  us  with  an  immense  smile  of 


208  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

benevolence,  as  suitable  to  the  sunshine  as  had  been  her 
mysterious  solemnity  to  the  moonlight.  There,  far  away 
to  the  left,  the  spire-crowned  Citadel  floated  in  translucent 
azure.  Its  domes  and  minarets,  and  the  long  serrated 
line  of  the  Mokattam  Hills  were  carved  against  the  sky 
in  the  yellow-rose  of  pink  topaz.  Shafts  of  light  gave  to 
jagged  shapes  and  terraces  of  rock  on  the  low  mountains 
an  appearance  of  temples  and  palaces,  very  noble  and 
splendid,  as  must  have  been  the  first  glimpse  of  Ancient 
Egypt  to  desert-worn  fugitives  from  famine  in  Palestine. 
Between  us  and  the  Nile,  hiding  the  sparkling  water  as  we 
rode,  went  a  dark  line  of  palms,  purple,  with  glints  of  pea- 
cock-feather green,  in  the  distance.  Hundreds  of  tiny 
birds  flew  up  into  the  burning  blue  like  a  black  spray,  and 
the  sand  was  patterned  by  their  feet,  in  designs  intricate 
as  lace.  Wherever  lay  a  patch  of  white  and  yellow  floweru 
or  of  rough  grass  no  bigger  than  a  prayer  rug,  a  lark  soared 
from  its  nest  singing  its  jewel-song;  and  here  and  there  a 
gentle  hoopoo  reared  the  crown  which  rewarded  it  for 
guiding  lost  King  Solomon  and  his  starving  army  to  safety. 
All  this  was  beautiful;  but  I  wondered  painfully  if 
Monny  could  be  happy  in  spite  of  the  bumps,  now  that  the 
desert  was  taking  her.  Strange,  how  a  disagreeable  sensa- 
tion constantly  repeated  at  the  end  of  a  mere  bone  can 
change  a  man's  outlook  on  life!  If  Monny  had  come 
to  my  camel-side  and  whispered,  "I  found  your  buried 
letter,  oh,  Men-Kheper-Ra.  Behold  that  bird  now  flying 
toward  you.  It  is  my  Ba  —  my  Heart  or  Soul-bird  car- 
rying the  gift  of  my  love:  "  I  should  with  difficulty  have 
prevented  myself  from  snapping  out,  "Thanks  very  much; 
but,  my  good  girl,  I'm  in  no  mood  to  talk  tommy-rot." 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  20* 

It  was  sympathy,  kind,  friendly  sympathy  I  yearned 
for,  not  spoken  in  words,  but  given  from  soft,  sweet  eyes, 
as  little  Biddy  had  given  it  when  I  tore  my  hands  and 
barked  my  shins  birds'-nesting  on  the  rocks  a  hundred 
years  ago. 

I  think  we  should  have  liked  the  excuse  to  stop  and 
gaze  at  the  ruinous  Pyramids  of  Abusir;  but  the  drago- 
man-guide supplied  by  Slaney  urged  us  on  to  the  great 
plateau  of  the  Pyramids  and  Necropolis  of  Sakkara. 
There,  on  the  terrace  of  Marriette's  House,  we  saw  a  crowd 
of  Cook's  tourists  from  Bedrachen,  and  I  had  some  mo- 
ments of  guilty  fear  lest  my  Secret  should  leak  out,  as 
their  dragoman  rushed  down  and  warmly  greeted  ours. 
But  in  the  throes  of  rolling  off  their  camels  for  the  first 
time,  the  ever-wakeful  suspicions  of  the  Set  were  sub- 
merged under  physical  emotions.  It's  an  ill  camel  that 
bumps  no  one  any  good! 

I  was  only  too  glad  to  lure  my  charges  away  from  dan- 
ger-zone; and  luckily  it  was  so  early  that  the  influential 
ones  who  never  lunched  until  two  "at  home,"  gave  the 
word,  "Tombs  before  food."  Girding  up  its  aching  loins, 
the  procession  allowed  itself  to  be  led  by  me  and  my  drago- 
man down  inclined  planes  into  dark,  mysteriously  warm 
passages  where  our  lights  were  wandering  red  stars. 
Now  and  then  a  face  would  start  suddenly  out  of  the 
gloom,  haloed  with  candle-light:  and  in  this  way,  Biddy's 
flashed  upon  me,  starry-eyed.  "  Oh,  I'm  glad  to  see  you ! " 
she  whispered.  Bedr  and  his  two  tourists  are  here.  I'm 
afraid!" 

"My  dear  child,"  I  said  soothingly,  but  not  as  sooth- 
ingly as  if  I  hadn't  had  toothache  in  the  spine,  "you  may 


210  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

be  afraid  of  Bedr,  but  hardly  of  two  stout  Germans  in 
check  suits. " 

"Not  if  they  are  Germans.  But  are  they?  Just  now 
one  of  their  candles  almost  collided  with  mine,  and  his  eyes 
stared  so!  Then  they  looked  over  my  head  at  Monny, 
who  was  behind  me.  And  where  she  is  now,  heaven 
knows!" 

"Nothing  can  happen  to  either  of  you  here,"  I  assured 
her.  "And  probably  our  fuss  about  Bedr  is  much  ado 
about  nothing.  We  have  no  evidence " 

"The  man  who  stared  at  me  over  his  candle  has  a  scar 
on  his  forehead,"  said  Biddy.  "Maybe  he  got  it  in  that 
row  in  front  of  the  House  of  the  Crocodile.  Maybe  he  is 
Burke,  and  has  just  come  out  of  the  hospital. " 

"Most  likely  he  is  Schmidt,  and  adorned  himself  with 
the  wound  in  a  student  duel,"  said  I. 

"It's  too  fresh-looking.  He  must  be  over  thirty,"  she 
objected,  but  at  that  moment  Miss  Hassett-Bean  loomed 
into  sight;  and  in  the  stuffy  atmosphere  of  the  tomb  felt 
the  need  of  my  arm  to  keep  her  from  fainting. 

We  "did"  the  Pyramid  of  Unas,  dilapidated  without, 
secretively  beautiful  within.  We  went  from  tomb  to 
tomb,  lingering  long  in  the  labyrinthine  Mansion  of  Mere- 
ruka  who,  ruddy  and  large  as  life,  stepped  hospitably 
down  in  statue-form  from  his  stela  recess,  to  welcome  us 
in  the  name  of  himself  and  wife.  Almost  he  seemed  to 
wave  his  hands  and  say,  "Look  at  these  nice  pictures  of 
me  and  my  family  and  our  ways  of  life,  painted  on  the 
walls  —  our  servants,  our  dwarfs,  our  mountebanks  and 
acrobats,  our  flocks  and  herds.  Sorry  there's  no  refresh- 
ment at  present  on  my  alabaster  mastaba,  or  table  of  offer- 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  211 

ings,  but  you  see  I  didn't  prepare  for  visitors  outside  my 
own  immediate  circle  of  Ka's  and  Ba's.  Still,  as  you  have 
come,  make  yourselves  at  home,  and  take  pot  luck.  I 
think  when  you've  examined  everything,  you'll  admit  that 
you  haven't  a  Soul-House  in  Europe  to  touch  mine  which, 
if  I  do  say  it,  is  the  best  thing  this  side  of  Thebes. " 

Next  came  the  Tomb  of  Thi;  but  by  this  time,  mural 
representations  of  fish,  flesh,  and  fruit  began  to  be  aggra- 
vating. It  would  be  past  two  before  we  could  reach  our 
luncheon-tent;  and  somehow  it  seemed  less  desirable  to 
feed  after  than  before  that  sacred  hour,  though  the  cus- 
tom be  sanctioned  by  royalty.  "Another  tomb  to  see 
before  lunch?"  groaned  Sir  John  Biddell,  when  the  drago- 
man firmly  insisted  on  the  Apis  Mausoleum.  "  Oh,  darn ! 
Need  we?  What?  Where  they  buried  Bulls?  I'd  as 
soon  see  a  slaughter  house,  on  an  empty  stomach.  Lady 
Biddell  and  I  will  go  sit  in  the  shadow  of  our  camels. 

And  they  did;  nor  would  they  believe  the  twins'  asser- 
tions that  the  dark  Mausoleum,  with  its  cavernous  rock 
chambers  and  granite  vaults,  was  the  most  impressive 
thing  they  had  seen  in  Egypt.  "You  say  that  to  be 
aggravating,  because  we  weren't  there,"  I  heard  Lady 
Biddell  snap,  over  the  grumbling  of  the  camels. 

The  sky  blazed  down  and  the  sand  blazed  up.  The 
desert  was  white-hot,  with  a  silver  whiteness  hotter  than 
gold,  and  the  foreshortened  shadows  were  turquoise  blue. 
It  was  heaven  to  arrive  at  a  miniature  oasis,  and  see  the 
open-fronted,  awninged  luncheon-tent  reflected  with  its 
green  frame  of  palms,  in  a  clear  lagoon,  thoughtfully  left 
by  the  receding  Nile.  At  sight  of  this  picture,  my  popu- 
larity went  up  with  a  bound.  It  really  was  a  lovely  vision : 


212  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

the  big  tent  lined  with  Egyptian  applique  work  in  many 
colors,  the  porchlike  roof  extension  supported  by  poles, 
and  in  its  shadow  a  white  table  loaded  with  good  things 
and  guarded  by  Arab  waiters  waving  beaded  fly- whisks. 
As  we  lingered  over  our  chicken-salad,  fruit,  and  cool 
drinks,  and  lazily  watched  our  camels  munching  bersim, 
all  our  first  enthusiasm  for  these  interesting  beasts 
streamed  back.  The  ladies  called  them  poor  dears,  and 
sweet  things;  and  the  men  marvelled  at  their  calm  endur- 
ance, or  the  number  of  their  leg-joints. 

Monny  was  gay  and  charming,  and  looked  at  me  so 
kindly  that  I  thought  she  must  mean  to  give  a  favorable 
answer  to  the  buried  letter.  I  blessed  Cleopatra  for 
the  "tip"  she  had  given,  though  I  wondered  what  was 
the  "humiliation"  from  which  I  could  save  her  niece. 
"After  all,"  said  I,  "the  desert  trip's  going  to  pan  out 
a  success."  But  it  must  have  been  about  this  time  that 
the  wind  rose.  It  blew  Miss  Hassett-Bean's  hat  up  in- 
stead of  down,  and  other  hats  off,  when  we  had  started 
again  —  and  it  blew  into  our  eyes  grains  of  sand  as  large 
as  able  bodied  paving-stones.  Also,  as  we  passed  through 
a  picturesque  mud-village  which  ought  to  have  pleased 
everybody,  it  blew  into  our  noses  smells  which  Lady  Bid- 
dell  knew  would  give  us  plague.  As  if  this  were  not 
enough,  the  sandcart  nearly  turned  over  in  a  rut,  and  Miss 
Hassett-Bean  said  that  she  must  go  home  or  be  left  to  die 
in  the  desert.  I  had  to  lead  the  little  stallion  before  she 
would  consent  to  go  on,  and  realized  when  I  had  ploughed 
through  fifty  yards  of  sand,  that  the  manicured  snob  of  a 
leader  was  a  thin  brown  hero.  By  the  time  I  had  had  a 
mile  or  two  of  this,  the  dark  Pyramids  of  Dahshur  were 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  213 

visible,  and  I  knew  that  our  camp  was  to  be  pitched  not 
far  beyond.  My  first  emotion  was  pleasure;  my  second, 
panic. 

What  if  Slaney  had  forgotten  his  promise  to  remove  the 
Cook  labels? 

Since  remounting  Farag  (only  the  coastguard  camels 
had  names;  the  baggage-beasts  smelt  as  sweet  without) 
Monny  and  I  had  been  bumping  along  side  by  side,  and 
she  had  just  said,  "If  I  tell  you  something,  you'll  never 
breathe  it  to  a  soul,  will  you?  "  when  I  saw  those  Pyramids, 
and  was  smitten  with  the  fear  of  Cook. 

"Never!"  I  vowed,  torn  between  the  desire  to  hear  her 
secret,  and  to  dash  ahead  of  the  caravan  into  camp. 

"It's  about  'Antoun,'"  Monny  went  on.  "You  know 
I  said  to  you  the  other  night,  that  perhaps  I  knew  some- 
thing about  him?" 

"Yes  — er  — oh,  yes!" 

We  were  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  Pyramids 
now.  At  any  instant  the  camp  might  burst  into  sight. 

"You  don't  look  interested!" 

"But  I  am,  awfully!" 

"You're  sure  you  won't  tell?" 

"Dead  sure." 

(Was  that  a  flag  fluttering  on  the  horizon?) 

"  Well,  then  —  it  isn't  my  business,  of  course.  But  one 
can't  help  being  interested  in  him,  he's  such  a  —  such  a 
romantic  sort  of  figure,  as  you  said  yourself.  And  there's 
something  so  high  and  noble  about  him —  I  mean,  about  his 
looks  and  manners  —  that  one  hates  to  be  disappointed." 

"You  would  have  him  with  us,  you  know!" 

"I  know.     And  —  and   I'm   glad   I  —  we  —  have   got 


214  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

him.  It's  a  —  it's  an  experience.  I  suppose  he's  rather 
wonderful.  But  don't  you  think  he  ought  to  remember 
that  he  isn't  exactly  a  prince?  He  isn't  even  called  Bey. 
And  if  he  were,  its  not  the  same  as  being  a  prince  of  Ancient 
Egypt." 

"  In  what  way  has  he  presumed  on  his  —  er  —  near  — 
princehood?" 

"  I  believe  he  has  —  fallen  in  love  with  Biddy ! " 

"  By  Jove !    Let  the  flag  flutter ! " 

"What  flag?" 

"Oh  —  er  —  that  was  only  an  expression.  They  use  it 
where  I  live.  Why  shouldn't  he  fall  in  love  with  Biddy, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it?" 

"He's  of  a  darker  race.  Though  —  he  does  seem  so  like 
us.  Of  course  she  couldn't  marry  him.  It  wouldn't  do. 
Would  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  must  think  it  over.  Is  that  all  you 
were  going  to  tell  me?" 

"  No.  I  suppose  it's  natural  he  should  fall  in  love  with 
Biddy.  She's  so  attractive!  But  the  worst  part  about 
it  is  that  he  has  proposed  to  Aunt  Clara." 

"Not  possible!" 

"Yes.  He  has.  I  saw  part  of  the  letter  —  the  first 
part.  She's  the  only  one  of  us  who  thinks  it  would  be 
right  to  marry  a  man  of  Egyptian  blood,  because  you 
know  she  believes  she's  Egyptian  herself  —  and  she's 
always  talking  about  reincarnations.  /  don't  see  that 
it's  such  a  wonderful  coincidence  his  name  being  'An- 
toun.'  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  he  were  in  love  with  her; 
but  it's  Biddy  who  is  always  right  in  everything  she  says 
and  does,  according  to  him  —  just  as  I  am  always  wrong. 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  215 

Aunt  Clara  is  richer  than  Biddy.  I  can't  bear  to  fancy 
that's  why  he  has  proposed;  it  would  take  away  all  the 
romance" 

"Don't  strip  him  of  his  romance  yet,"  said  I,  again 
torn  between  interest  in  Monny's  incredible  statement, 
and  excitement  which  grew  with  the  growing  in  size  of 
those  flags  on  the  horizon.  "You  may  wrong  him.  If 
you  saw  only  the  first  part  of  the  letter " 

"There  could  be  no  mistake.  It  was  in  hieroglyphics, 
and  who  but  'Antoun'  would  have  written  such  a  letter 
to  Aunt  Clara?  She  asked  me  to  translate  it,  the  night 
she  dug  it  up  at  Fustat " 

"Dug- 

"And  when  I'd  read  as  far  as,  'Beautiful  Queen,  Star 
of  my  Heart,  be  my  wife,'  she  snatched  the  paper  away, 
and  put  it  inside  her  dress,  saying  she'd  look  up  the  rest  hi 
one  of  my  books. " 

"Good  heavens!  You  must  have  changed  places  at 
Fustat.  That  letter  couldn't  have  been  for  her ! " 

"It  couldn't  have  been  for  any  one  else.  'Beautiful 
Queen'  meant  Queen  Cleopatra.  She  said  so  herself. 
I  don't  know  what  she's  going  to  do  about  it. " 

"Do  about  it?"  I  echoed  desperately.  "Why " 

and  just  then  my  straining  eyes  saw  that  on  the  middle 
flag  in  the  fluttering  row  were  four  large  red  letters  on  a 
white  ground.  Slaney  had  betrayed  me!  Everything 
depended  on  getting  that  flag  down  before  those  letters 
declared  themselves  to  other  eyes.  "Excuse  me,"  I 
finished  my  sentence  with  a  gasp. 

Monny  must  have  gasped  also,  as  she  saw  me  suddenly 
dash  away  from  her  at  full  speed  of  one-camel  power. 


216  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

But  I  had  no  time  to  think  about  what  she  might  think. 
I  suppose  I  must  have  done  something  to  the  steering-gear 
of  that  camel,  which  coastguard  camels  do  not  permit. 
Whatever  it  was,  it  got  me  into  the  midst  of  camp  before 
I  could  draw  breath;  but  I  have  a  dim  recollection  of 
being  caught  by  Arab  arms,  and  seeing  suppressed  Arab 
grins,  as  mechanically  I  felt  to  see  how  far  the  end  of  my 
spine  stuck  out  at  the  top  of  my  head. 

"That  flag!  Pull  it  down!"  was  my  first  gasp,  point- 
ing convulsively  to  the  banner  which  shrieked,  "Cook!" 
"  Quick  —  before  they  come ! " 

Dazed  by  my  vehemence,  several  Arabs  scuttled  to 
obey  the  order,  but  there  were  too  many  of  them.  Each 
hindered  his  neighbour,  and  as  I  danced  about,  making 
matters  worse,  out  pounced  our  withered  chef  from  the 
kitchen-tent. 

"It  was  he  brought  that  flag,  wrapped  round  some- 
thing," explained  one  of  the  men,  in  Arabic.  "When  he 
saw  we  had  other  flags,  but  none  of  Cook,  he  gave  it  to  us 
to  put  over  the  biggest  tent,  because  he  thought  it  shame- 
ful to  have  no  flag  of  the  master's. " 

"Cook  isn't  the  master.  I'm  it,"  I  burbled,  with  a 
leap  to  catch  the  tell-tale  square  of  white  as  it  reluctantly 
came  down.  But  I  was  too  late.  Sir  John  Biddell  and 
Harry  Snell,  the  newspaper  man,  came  gallumping 
up  on  their  camels  before  I  could  stuff  the  flag  into  my 
pocket. 

"What's  the  matter?"  they  asked,  as  their  animals 
squatted  to  let  them  down.  "W'ere  you  run  away  with? 
What  are  you  so  mad  about?  Hullo!  What  flag's  that 
—  C-O-O-K  !" 


THE  DESERT  DAIRY  BEGUN  217 

"It  should  be  over  the  kitchen-tent,"  I  heard  myself 
explaining.  "Don't  you  see?  C-O-O-K!  It's  the  cook's 
special  flag.  He  brought  it  himself,  but  these  chaps 
went  and  flew  it  over  the  dining-tent  in  place  of  the  Union 
Jack.  That's  why  he  and  I  are  mad. " 

And  I  thanked  all  the  stars  on  Monny's  tent  flag  that 
none  of  the  Set  understood  Arabic. 

After  this,  how  could  I  hope  to  explain  to  Monny  that 
the  hieroglyphic  proposal  was  mine,  and  that  she,  not 
Cleopatra,  ought  to  have  dug  it  up?  She  isn't  a  girl  used 
to  having  men  run  away  from  her,  on  camelback  or  any- 
thing else  —  so  naturally  she  thought  me  a  rude  beast, 
and  showed  it.  Besides,  even  if  I'd  dared,  I  should  have 
had  no  chance  to  straighten  matters  out;  for  though  the 
flag-episode  was  after  all  no  fault  of  Slaney's,  there  were  a 
few  little  things  which  had  escaped  even  his  Napoleonic 
memory;  and  it  was  only  by  combining  the  feats  of  an 
acrobat  with  those  of  a  juggler  that  I  saved  my  reputation 
during  the  next  half  hour. 

No  sight  could  have  been  more  beautiful  in  our  eyes 
than  that  village  of  white  tents  in  the  waste  of  yellow  sand. 
Our  wildest  imaginings  could  have  pictured  nothing  more 
perfect,  more  peaceful. 

Tea  was  ready,  in  the  huge  dining-tent,  where  folding 
chairs  were  grouped  round  a  white-covered  table.  The 
floor  of  sand  was  hidden  with  thick,  bright-coloured  rugs, 
and  it  was  finding  "T.  C.  and  Son"  on  the  wrong  side  of 
one  which  Miss  Hassett-Bean's  foot  turned  up,  that  filled 
me  with  renewed  alarms.  Hastily  I  laid  the  rug  straight, 
placed  a  chair  upon  it,  and  persuaded  everybody  to  have 
tea  before  inspecting  their  bedroom  tents.  While  they 


218  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

drank  draughts  and  dabbed  jam  on  an  Egyptian  concep- 
tion of  scones,  I  hurried  like  a  haggard  ghost  from  tent  to 
tent,  seeking  the  forbidden  thing.  Cook  on  the  backs  of 
the  little  mirrors  hanging  from  the  pole  hooks!  .  .  . 
Will  it  wash  off?  .  .  .  No!  Cut  it  out  with  a  pen- 
knife! Down  on  your  knees  and  tear  off  the  label  from 
the  wrong  side  of  another  carpet!  (Memo:  Must  do  the 
one  in  the  dining-tent  when  the  people  are  asleep  for  the 
night.)  Cram  three  Cook  towels  into  my  pockets.  Has- 
tily pin  a  handkerchief  over  the  name  on  a  white  bit  of  a 
tent  wall.  Must  have  it  cut  out,  and  patched  with  some- 
thing, later.  Shall  have  to  pay  damages  when  I  settle  up 
with  Slaney.  Lady  Macbeth  wasn't  in  it  with  me!  All 
she  needed  was  a  little  water.  I  have  to  have  pins  and 
penknives  and  pockets  all  over  the  place. 

I  didn't  get  any  tea.  But  that  was  a  detail.  And 
everybody  was  so  delighted  with  everything  that  my 
spirits  rose,  despite  a  snub  or  two  from  Monny  —  for 
which  Biddy  tried  to  make  up.  People  took  desert  strolls, 
or  sat  on  dunes,  and  gazed  into  the  sunset  which  couldn't 
have  been  better  if  I  had  turned  it  on  myself.  Along  the 
western  horizon  ran  a  pale  flame  of  green  blending  with 
rose,  rose  blending  with  amethyst,  and  in  the  distance  the 
Pyramids  of  Dahshur  burned  with  the  red  of  pigeon- 
blood  rubies. 

The  wind  had  died  among  the  desert  dunes,  and  it  was 
not  till  after  dinner  that  any  one  realized  the  arctic  fall  of 
temperature.  It  was  too  cold  to  enjoy  playing  bridge  or 
any  of  the  games  I  had  brought;  and  the  only  hope  of 
comfort  was  in  bed.  People  said  good  night  to  each  other 
in  the  comparatively  warm  dining-tent,  and  then  gave 


THE  DESERT  DIARY  BEGUN  219 

surprised  shrieks  or  grunts  (according  to  sex)  at  the 
piercing  cold.  Several  of  the  elder  ladies  fell  over  tent- 
ropes,  despite  the  large  lanterns  illuminating  the  desert, 
and  had  to  be  escorted  to  their  bedroom  tents,  and 
soothed.  After  this,  silence  reigned  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  I  had  stealthily  begun  to  work  on  the  biggest  rug- 
label,  when  arose  a  clamour  of  voices  and  presently  ap- 
peared the  dragoman  lent  by  Slaney. 

"Eight  ladies  wishing  hot -water  bottles, "  he  explained. 

But  there  were  no  hot-water  bottles.  We  had  thought 
of  everything,  it  seemed,  except  hot-water  bottles. 

"I  tell  them  very  sorry  but  can't  have?"  Yusef  sug- 
gested, looking  pleased. 

"Let  me  think!"  I  groaned.  "What  about  the  mineral 
water  bottles  we  emptied  at  lunch  and  dinner?  Let  the 
cook  boil  water,  and  we'll  supply  the  bottles. " 

This  was  done;  and  I  was  proud  of  the  inspiration,  with 
the  pride  that  comes  before  a  fall.  When  I  began  to  write, 
in  my  bedroom  tent,  wrapped  in  all  the  blankets  of  the  bed 
that  should  be  Anthony's,  I  had  the  place  to  myself.  But 
about  midnight  a  head  was  unexpectedly  thrust  through 
the  door-flap.  It  looked  ghostly  in  the  haze  of  colour 
made  by  the  gorgeous  applique  work  of  high  roof  and  octa- 
gon walls,  wliich  gave  an  effect  of  sitting  at  the  bottom  of 
a  giant  kaleidoscope. 

"Who's  that?"  I  hissed,  in  a  whisper  meant  to  be  dis- 
creet, but  which  roused  a  camel  or  two  in  the  ring  outsicle 
the  tents. 

"Biddell  —  Sir  John  Biddell,"  replied  the  head.  "I 
saw  your  light,  and  remembered  you  had  your  tent  to 
yourself  to-night.  Those  hot-water  bottles  have  been 


220  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

leaking.  There's  one  at  least  gone  wrong  in  most  of  the 
ladies'  tents.  The  married  men  have  given  their  beds  to 
girls  who  are  drowned  out.  Twas  your  idea  about  those 
bottles,  wasn't  it?  I  expect  you'll  hear  from  it  in  the 
morning!  Three  of  us  want  to  come  and  camp  in  here 
with  you. " 

"All  right,"  I  sighed,  with  a  sinking  heart.  "I  like 
sitting  up,  and  you  qan  toss  for  the  cots. " 

At  this  moment  Sir  John  Biddell  reposes  in  one  of  them, 
General  Harlow  in  the  other.  These  gentlemen  were  so 
affected  with  the  cold  that  they  went  to  bed  in  their  clothes, 
then  got  up  to  put  on  their  overcoats,  then  got  up  again 
and  put  on  their  hats.  On  the  floor  lies  a  certain  Mills  of 
Manchester,  rolled  in  all  the  rugs,  except  one  which  I  have 
on,  after  surrendering  my  blankets.  He  has  his  head  in  a 
basket, to  keep  off  the  icy  draught;  and  in  the  ruggy  region 
of  his  spine,  as  he  rests  on  his  side,  are  the  letters  C-O-O-K. 
I  wonder  if  I  could  rip  them  off  without  waking  him  up? 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  DESERT  DIARY  TO  ITS  BITTER  END 

Tuesday:  The  principal  water-cask  has  leaked;  con- 
sequently not  enough  water  to  go  round.  Ch£f  said  it  was 
a  question  of  baths,  or  soup.  Considering  the  cold,  most 
of  the  people  voted  for  soup.  Some  washed  in  Apollinaris. 
Others  douched  with  soda  siphons.  We  can  get  more 
water  to-night.  Can't  think  why  the  north  wind  doesn't 
stop  and  warm  itself  while  traversing  the  Mediterranean 
or  the  hot  sands !  It  seems  to  be  in  too  fierce  a  hurry  and 
consequently  cuts  across  the  desert,  like  a  frozen  scythe, 
the  moment  its  rival  the  sun  has  gone  to  sleep.  I  hear  that 
Miss  Hassett-Bean  cried  with  cold  as  she  dressed,  and  put 
on  two  of  everything;  but  she  is  luckier  than  the  younger 
women.  Monny  and  Mrs.  East,  though  warned  that 
nights  would  be  chill,  have  come  clothed  in  silk  and 
gossamer,  and  have  brought  low-necked  nightgowns  of 
nainsook  trimmed  with  lace.  This  was  confided  to 
me  soon  after  sunrise  by  a  blue-nosed  Biddy,  hover- 
ing over  the  kitchen  fire  and  —  incidentally  —  in- 
gratiating herself  with  the  cook.  It  wouldn't  be 
Biddy  if  she  weren't  ingratiating  herself  with  some 
one! 

Nobody  yearned  to  get  up  early  (I  speak  for  others,  as 
/  passed  my  night  in  the  attitude  of  a  suspension  bridge 

221 


222  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

between  two  folding  chairs) ;  but  in  camp  where  sleep  is 
concerned,  men  may  propose,  camels  dispose. 

Their  nights  they  spend  in  a  ring  of  camelhood,  huddled 
together  for  warmth;  and  if  they  do  not  have  nightmare 
or  bite  each  other  in  their  sleep,  mere  humans  in  neigh- 
bouring tents  may  hope  for  comparative  silence  in  the 
desert,  if  not  near  a  village  full  of  pi-dogs.  At  sunrise, 
however,  a  change  comes  o'er  their  spirit.  They  are  given 
food,  and  made  as  happy  and  contented  as  it  is  their 
nature  to  be,  which  apparently  is  not  saying  much.  Judg- 
ing by  the  strange,  inarticulate  oaths  they  constantly 
mutter,  they  are  equally  accursed  in  their  sitting  down  and 
their  getting  up.  It  is  only  when  they  are  actually  "on 
the  move,"  floating  and  swaying  through  the  air  —  legs, 
tail,  neck,  jaws  —  that  they  have  nothing  disagreeable 
to  say.  Immediately  after  dawn  this  morning  our  camels 
began  to  imitate  every  animal  they  could  have  met  since 
the  days  of  the  Ark,  when  one  had  to  know  everybody. 
They  mewed  like  cats,  hissed  like  snakes,  bleated  like 
sheep,  roared  like  toy  lions,  grunted  like  pigs,  barked  like 
dogs,  squawked  like  geese,  and  bellowed  like  baby  bulls. 
Also  they  gargled  their  throats  like  elderly  invalids.  It, 
was  useless  trying  to  sleep;  and  when  I  had  accomplished 
such  bathing  as  the  ch^f  permitted,  I  went  out  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  Nothing  was  the  matter,  except  that 
the  creatures  had  the  sunrise  in  their  eyes,  and  could  see 
the  camel-boys  preparing  their  loads;  but  I  was  glad  I  had 
come  out,  because  Biddy  was  there  and  the  scene  was 
beautiful.  Shivering,  we  chuckled  over  the  morning  toilet 
of  the  camels,  who  turned  their  faces  disconcertingly  upon 
us,  sneering  with  long  yellow  teeth,  and  bubbling  as  if 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  223 

their  mouths  were  full  of  pink  soapsuds,  when  they  realized 
that  we  were  laughing  at  them. 

Incidentally  we  learned  why  the  Baby  Sphinx  accom- 
panied our  caravan  uninvited.  His  name  is  Salih;  and 
he  came  because  there's  a  very  important  camel  (the 
property  of  his  father)  who  refuses  to  eat  or  stir  without 
him.  It  is  a  most  original  and  elaborate  camel.  It  has  a 
neat  way  of  turning  its  ears  with  their  backs  to  the  wind, 
in  order  to  make  them  sand-proof.  If  any  person  other 
than  Salih  touches  it,  an  incredible  quantity  of  green  cud 
is  instantly  let  loose  over  their  turbans;  but  at  the 
approach  of  Salih  it  emits  a  purring  noise,  preens  its  head 
for  the  nose-strap  ornamented  with  a  bunch  of  palmlike 
plumes,  and  playfully  pretends  not  to  want  the  bersim 
which  the  little  black  Sphinx  thrusts  down  its  throat  hi 
handfuls.  This,  it  seems,  is  good  camel  table-manners. 
And  it  is  to  the  tail  of  this  animal  that  Salih  clings  on  the 
march.  If  he  is  not  there,  the  animal  looks  round,  stops, 
or  turns  to  charge  at  any  Arab  who  jestingly  misuses  its 
idol. 

Yesterday  the  miniature  Sphinx  was  in  a  white  robe. 
To-day  he  is  in  black.  All  the  Arabs  have  changed  their 
clothes,  although  they  have  brought  no  visible  luggage 
except  vague  pieces  of  sacking.  The  dragoman  is  ex- 
quisitely arrayed,  galabeah  and  kaftan  gray-blue,  with  a 
pink  petticoat,  and  a  white  one  under  that.  I  suspect 
that  he  sleeps  beneath  the  dining-table  —  and  the  other 
Arabs  among  the  kitchen  pots  —  yet  they  are  smarter 
than  any  of  us  Europeans,  all  of  whom  have  a  frayed  air. 
This,  I  suppose,  would  not  be  so  in  desert-fiction.  Nothing 
•would  be  said  about  hot-water  bottles  leaking,  or  beetles 


224         ,       IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

beetling  (one  doesn't  come  to  Egypt  to  see  live  scarabs) , 
or  draughts  raging,  or  camels  gobbling,  or  flags  flapping 
all  night.  (Memo:  Abolish  flags,  even  at  expense  of 
patriotism.) 

Despite  every  desert  drawback,  however,  Biddy  and  I 
agreed  that  the  sunrise  alone  was  worth  the  journey,  and 
the  pure  air  of  dawn  which,  though  cold,  seemed  per- 
fumed by  mysterious  rdse-fields.  Just  at  sun-up  the  desert 
was  lily  pale  —  then,  as  the  horizon  flamed,  a  dazzling 
flood  of  gold  poured  over  the  dunes.  The  sun  was  a  fan- 
tastic brooch  of  beaten  copper,  caught  in  a  veil  of  ruby 
gauze,  while  here  and  there  a  belated  star  was  a  dull, 
flawed  emerald  sewn  into  the  veil's  fringe.  Shadows 
swept  westward  across  the  desert  like  blue  water,  showing 
a  glitter  of  drowned  jewels  underneath;  and  though  last 
night  it  had  seemed  that  we  were  alone  in  a  vast  wilder- 
ness, now  there  were  signs  that  a  village  lay  not  far  off. 
A  group  of  children  hi  red  and  blue,  staring  avidly  at  the 
camp,  were  Like  a  bunch  of  ragged  poppies  in  the  sand. 
Their  mangy  pi-dogs  had  ventured  nearer,  to  smell  sadly 
at  the  meat-safes  hanging  outside  our  kitchen-tent.  A 
gypsy-woman  with  splendid  eyes  and  a  blue  tattooed  chin, 
breakfasted  on  an  adjacent  dune  with  her  husband.  Men 
like  living  hencoops  passed  in  the  distance.  Patriarchal 
persons  blew  by,  in  that  graceful  way  in  which  people  do 
blow  in  Egypt,  driving  a  flock  of  sheep,  with  a  black  lamb 
"for  luck."  These  men  were  dressed  as  their  ancestors 
had  dressed  in  the  time  of  Abraham,  and  Biddy  and  I 
envied  them.  How  nice,  said  she,  to  wear  the  same 
clothes  for  a  hundred  years  if  you  happened  to  live,  and 
never  be  out  of  fashion.  If  a  few  of  your  things  dropped 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  225 

off  by  degrees,  you  were  still  all  right,  and  nobody  would 
be  rude  enough  to  notice ! 

Our  faded  family  revived  after  breakfast,  and  even  those 
who  vowed  they  hadn't  closed  an  eye  all  night  enjoyed  the 
scene  of  striking  camp.  The  big  white  tents  fell  to  the 
ground  like  pricked  soap-bubbles;  whereupon  their  re- 
mains were  deftly  rolled  up  and  tied  on  to  the  backs  of 
bitterly  protesting  camels.  Beds,  mattresses,  tables, 
chairs  ceased  to  be  what  they  had  been  and  became  some- 
thing else.  Camels  made  faces  and  noises.  Arabs  tore 
this  way  and  that,  doing  as  little  work  as  possible.  The 
cook  fluttered  about  in  his  blanket,  brandishing  a  sauce- 
pan. Yusef  the  dragoman  made  noble  gestures  of  com- 
mand, and  our  little  desert  city  ceased  to  exist  except 
on  camels'  backs.  It  was  shaved  off  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  and  went  churning  and  swaying  along  toward  the 
next  stand;  the  procession  rising  and  falling  among  swell- 
ing dunes,  under  a  sky  which  seemed  to  trail  like  a  heavy 
blue  curtain,  where  at  the  horizon  it  met  the  gold. 

We  travelled  over  pebbly  plateaus,  scattered  with  jewel- 
like  stones.  Sand-pyramids  rose  out  of  the  glistening 
plain.  Here  and  there  were  rocks  like  partly  hewn  sphinxes 
pushing  out  of  the  sand  to  breathe;  other  rocks  like 
monstrous  toads;  and  still  others  dark  and  dreadful  in  the 
distance  as  ogres'  houses.  Altogether  the  desert  gave  us  a 
truly  Libyan  effect,  which  made  the  Set  feel  that  after  all 
they  were  getting  what  they  had  paid  for,  with  an  intro- 
duction to  a  beauty  and  heiress  thrown  in.  But  apropos 
of  this  latter  boon,  it  is  dawning  upon  me  that  Rachel 
Guest  is  receiving  more  attention  than  Monny.  This 
strikes  me  as  inexplicable.  There  are  more  men  than 


228  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

women  in  our  party,  all  young  except  Sir  John  Biddell, 
General  Harlow,  and  Mills  of  Manchester,  a  soft,  fat  sort 
of  fellow  whose  first  name  you  can  never  remember.  It 
occurred  to  me  on  starting,  that  the  desire  of  so  many 
unattached  young  men  to  spend  a  week  in  the  desert  and 
the  Fayoum,  might  not  be  unconnected  with  Miss  Gilder's 
intention  to  join  the  party.  Not  being  jealous,  I  expected 
to  see  a  little  fun,  and  laugh  over  it  with  Biddy,  who  is  a 
heavenly  person  with  whom  to  share  a  joke.  But  if  there 
is  a  joke,  I  haven't  seen  the  point  yet,  nor  has  she.  There's 
no  disputing  the  fact  that  Miss  Guest,  the  poor,  brave 
school  teacher  on  holiday,  is  the  belle  of  the  desert. 

Of  course,  if  Monny  had  stopped  in  Cairo,  Rachel's 
success  with  our  men  wouldn't  be  astonishing.  As  Brigit 
and  Monny  warned  me  in  their  letters  to  the  Candace,  she 
grows  better  looking  every  day;  but  though  she  is  dis- 
tinctly of  Monny's  type,  despite  those  slanting  eyes, 
she  will  never  be  a  real  beauty,  or  a  Complete  Fascinator, 
like  our  Gilded  Girl.  Besides,  Monny  has  millions,  and 
Rachel  hasn't  a  cent.  Yet  there  it  is!  Miss  Guest  is 
having  the  "  time  of  her  life"  in  spite  of  leaky  water  bottles 
and  bumping  camels,  while  Miss  Gilder  might  be  an  old 
married  woman,  for  all  the  attention  she  gets  from  any 
man  on  this  trip  except  me.  What  can  be  the  explanation? 
Even  those  two  exaggerately  German-looking  men  with 
Bedr  stared  at  Rachel  from  their  respectful  distance.  It 
turns  out  that  they  camped  not  far  from  us  last  night. 
Yusef  heard  this  from  one  of  our  camel-boys.  But  they 
kept  to  themselves,  and  didn't  come  within  a  mile  of  us, 
so  there's  nothing  to  complain  of. 

Every  one  except  Sir  John  delighted  with  to-day's 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  227 

desert.  He  can't  see  anything  beautiful  in  yellow  lumps 
that  keep  you  sawing  up  and  down,  though  he  has  no 
doubt  the  desert  is  full  of  other  fools  doing  what  we're 
doing;  and  we  could  all  see  each  other  doing  it  if  it  weren't 
for  those  darn  dunes. 

Later:  Adventure  for  sandcart  on  one  of  the  biggest 
plateaus.  Looked  all  right  from  the  top;  but  a  shriek 
from  Mrs.  East  put  me  to  the  dire  necessity  of  sliding  off 
Farag  and  running  to  the  rescue.  The  plateau  was  broken 
off  in  front  and  became  a  precipice  which,  Cleopatra 
seemed  to  think,  would  not  have  existed  had  "Antoun" 
arrived  in  time  to  arrange  it. 

Great  wind  came  roaring  up  again  about  noon.  Feared 
to  learn  that  it  had  been  impossible  to  get  luncheon-tent  in 
position.  But  when  the  time  came  to  find  it,  there  it  was 
with  its  back  to  the  blast,  and  its  shady  open  front,  of  tile- 
patterned  applique,  offering  the  hoped-for  picture  of  white 
table  and  smiling  brown  waiters. 

While  we  lunched,  the  fierce  gusts  striking  the  back 
canvas  wall  were  like  the  frightened  flappings  of  giant 
wings,  and  the  beating  of  a  great  bird's  heart.  Otherwise 
we  might  have  forgotten  the  elements  as  we  ate,  save  for 
a  slight  powdering  of  sand  on  our  food.  But  even  that 
wasn't  bad,  if  we  selected  only  the  port  side  of  our  bread 
and  chicken,  leaving  windward  bits  to  the  Arabs. 

Our  night  camp  was  in  shelter  of  the  two  vast  dunes 
which  hide  the  ancient  city  of  Bacchias,  now  called  Um-el- 
Atl,  where  we  found  "Antoun"  awaiting  us.  He  had 
started  from  Cairo  in  the  morning  on  a  coastguard  camel, 
coming  quickly  along  the  camel  route  between  Bed- 
rashen  and  Tomieh,  and  the  extra  few  miles  to  our  en- 


228  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

campment.  Before  we  arrived  he  had  sent  the  camel 
back  with  the  mounted  Arab  who  accompanied  him;  and 
somehow  the  camp  seemed  all  the  smarter  and  more  ship- 
shape for  the  presence  of  the  handsome  Hadji,  in  his 
green  turban.  The  Set  are  all  extremely  interested  in 
him;  and  on  hearing  my  version  of  his  history,  sketchily 
told,  have  taken  to  calling  him  "the  prince. "  Enid  and 
Elaine  almost  fawn  upon  him,  in  then*  admiration  of  so 
romantic  and  splendid  an  addition  to  our  party:  a  real, 
live  Egyptian  gentleman,  with  enough  European  blood  in 
his  veins  to  justify  nice-minded  maidens  in  cherishing  a 
hopeless  love  for  him,  when  he  has  safely  vanished  out  of 
their  lives. 

Mrs.  East  made  Anthony  pick  up  pre-historic  oyster 
shells  in  the  desert,  between  flaming  sunset  and  twilight, 
when  the  sky  became  a  vast  blue  tent  hung  with  a  million 
lamps.  And  at  dinner  she  was  not  nice  to  Enid  and 
Elaine  who  admired  her  hero  too  frankly.  She  has  devel- 
oped an  embarrassing  clearness  of  vision  as  to  other 
people's  former  incarnations,  especially  their  disagreeable 
or  shocking  ones. 

"Ah,  it  has  just  come  to  me!"  she  exclaimed,  her  elbows 
on  the  table,  looking  dreamily  into  Elaine  Biddell's  face. 
"You  were  Xantippe.  I  knew  I'd  seen  you  somewhere." 

As  for  Enid,  it  seems  that  she  was  Charmian  or  Iris, 
Cleopatra  can't  be  sure  which;  but  the  girl  has  come  to  me 
saying  that,  if  Mrs.  East  doesn't  stop  calling  her  "My  dear 
handmaiden, "  one  or  the  other  of  them  will  have  to  give 
up  starting  on  the  Nile  trip  next  week. 

Wednesday:  We  had  lobster  a  la  Newburgh  for 
dinner,  in  mid-Libyan  desert,  and  drank  the  chef's  health 


229 

in  champagne.  I  don't  know  which  was  to  blame,  or 
whether  it  was  the  combination;  but  in  the  windy  middle 
of  the  night  when  tent  flaps  stirred  like  a  nestful  of  young 
birds,  there  were  demands  for  ginger  and  for  pepper- 
mint. Now,  ginger  and  peppermint  happened  to  be  the 
only  two  medicaments  in  the  whole  pharmacopoeia  left  out 
of  the  medicine  chest.  But  nothing  else  would  do.  The 
more  the  things  weren't  there,  the  more  they  were  wanted; 
and  all  the  people  who  had  made  notes  to  remember  me 
in  their  wills,  scratched  me  out  again.  Then,  to  pile  Ossa 
on  Pelion,  the  dogs  of  Tomieh  arrived  to  pay  a  visit. 
They  barked,  of  course;  but  they  barked  so  much  that  the 
noise  was  like  a  silence,  and  nobody  minded  after  the  first 
half  hour.  The  worst  was,  that  they  did  not  confine  their 
demonstrations  to  barking.  In  order  to  signify  their 
disapproval  of  our  stingy  ways,  they  took  the  boots  we 
had  confided  to  the  sand  in  front  of  our  tents  to  be  cleaned, 
and  worried  them  at  a  considerable  distance.  Some  of 
the  boots  were  past  wearing  when  found,  and  some  were 
not  found.  Judging  from  cold  glances  directed  at  me 
by  those  obliged  to  resort  to  pumps  or  bedroom  slippers, 
one  would  imagine  me  the  trainer  of  this  canine  menagerie. 
It  has  been  hinted,  too,  that  a  conductor  worth  his  salt 
would  have  filled  up  interstices  of  the  medicine  chest  with 
toothbrushes.  Several  members  of  the  party  forgot  to 
pack  theirs  in  moving  camp  and  they  are  now  the  property 
of  jackals.  A  stock  of  toothbrushes  is  the  one  other  thing 
besides  peppermint  and  ginger  and  hot -water  bottles  that 
Slaney  and  I  left  out  of  our  calculations;  still,  I  do  think 
bygones  ought  to  be  bygones.  Anthony  is  the  hero  now, 
because  it  occurred  to  him  to  buy  in  Cairo  flannelette 


230  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

nightwear,  male  and  female,  of  the  thickest  and  most 
hideously  pink  description.  Had  these  horrors  been 
suggested  at  the  start,  they  would  have  been  rejected  with 
fury,  in  favour  of  lace  and  nainsook;  but  the  contribution 
has  made  a  success  fou,  at  a  crisis  when  vanity  has  been 
forgotten,  and  the  girls  are  employing  their  prettiest 
frocks  as  bed  covering. 

Anotlier  Day:  Have  now  forgotten  which,  or  how 
many  we've  had.  This  is  Anthony's  hour  —  but  he  may 
take  such  advantage  of  it  as  he  chooses  —  I'm  indifferent. 
On  top  of  my  troubles  I've  contracted  Desert  Snivels. 
Whether  the  habit  of  using  sand  for  snuff  has  produced  the 
malady,  or  whether  I've  caught  something  (despite  the 
tonic  air)  from  nomads  or  oasis-dwellers,  all  of  whom  emit 
a  storm  of  coughs  and  sneezes,  I  do  not  know.  All  desire 
to  use  this  grand  opportunity  of  taking  Cleopatra's  advice 
and  winning  Monny's  love  while  for  once  she's  neglected 
by  others,  has  died  within  me.  My  one  wish  is  to  keep 
away  from  her  and  the  rest,  except  perhaps  Biddy,  and 
suffer  alone,  like  a  cat.  Biddy  has  got  Desert  Snivels, 
too.  It  makes  another  link  between  us,  like  the  mem- 
ories of  our  childhood.  We  swop  stories  of  symptoms. 
Both  feel  that  sense  of  terrible  resignation  which  desert 
babies  have  when  their  eyes  are  full  of  flies  and  no  one 
takes  them  out. 

The  sky  lowers.  Big  black  birds  flap  over  our  heads 
like  pirate  flags  that  have  blown  away.  They  are  the 
vultures  which  used  to  be  sacred  to  Egyptians,  and  seem 
to  labour  under  the  delusion  that  they  are  sacred  still. 
The  sand  blows  into  our  back  hair,  and  the  Arabs  make 
scarves  and  veils  of  their  turbans.  Apparently  these 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  231 

Moslems  never  say  any  prayers,  and  the  Candace  people 
feel  they've  been  cheated  of  a  promised  sensation  of  desert 
life.  The  only  religious  thing  the  men  do  is  to  bawl 
"Allah!"  when  they  lift  the  heavy,  rolled  up  tents  onto 
the  camels. 

People  are  beginning  to  grumble  about  their  meals, 
which  at  first  seemed  to  them  miracles  of  culinary  art. 
"Same  old  desert  things  we've  been  eating  ever  since 
Moses, "  I  heard  Harry  Snell  mutter.  And  Sir  John  Biddell 
is  sick  of  h.  b.  eggs.  I  suppose  he  means  hard-boiled.  I 
should  like  to  feed  him  on  soft-shell  scarabs ! 

Tea  is  the  only  incident  in  the  desert  which  has  palled  on 
no  one  yet.  Very  jolly,  having  finished  the  day's  exertion, 
and  sitting  on  folding  chairs  inside  tent  door,  teacup  in 
hand,  watching  the  winged  shadows  sweep  across  the 
dunes !  One  feels  like  Jacob  or  Rebecca  or  some  one. 
There  may  be  a  fine  saint's  tomb  standing  up,  marble- 
white,  against  the  rose-garden  of  a  sunset  sky,  but  one 
doesn't  bother  to  walk  out  and  examine  it  at  close  quarters. 
There's  nothing  like  sitting  still  after  a  windy  day  on 
camel  back. 

We  lack  interest  in  history  ancient  and  modern, 
although  Egypt  is  the  country  which  ought  to  make 
one  want  to  know  all  other  history.  There  may  be 
a  European  war  or  an  earthquake.  We  don't  care 
what  happens  to  any  one  but  ourselves.  It  is  all  we 
can  do  to  keep  track  of  our  own  affairs.  As  for  ancient 
history,  we  content  ourselves  with  wondering  if  Anthony 
and  Cleopatra,  when  picnicking  in  the  desert,  dropped 
orange  peel  and  cake  to  feed  the  living  scarabs  of  their  day. 

We  seem  to  be  lost  to  the  world,  yet  now  and  then  we're 


232  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

reminded  that  we  have  neighbours  in  the  desert.  We've 
had  glimpses  of  a  distant  caravan  which  must  be  Bedr's; 
and  when  we  came  in  sight  of  our  own  camp  last  evening, 
we  were  just  in  time  to  catch  a  party  of  Germans  being 
photographed  in  front  of  it,  with  our  things  for  an  unpaid 
background.  Ever  beauteous  picture,  by  the  by,  your  own 
encampment!  White  tents  blossoming  like  snowy  flowers 
in  a  wilderness;  a  dense  black  cloud,  massed  near  by  on  the 
golden  sand,  which  might  in  the  distance  be  a  plantation 
of  young  palms, but  is  in  reality  a  congested  mass  of  camels. 
You  sing  at  the  top  of  your  voice  "  From  the  desert  I  come 
to  thee,  on  a  stallion  shod  with  fire ! "  hoping  to  thrill  the 
girls.  But  they  are  thinking  about  their  tea.  Girls  in 
the  desert,  I  find,  are  always  thinking  about  their  tea,  or 
their  dinner,  or  their  beds.  You  would  like  (when  your 
Desert  Snivels  improve)  to  walk  with  a  maiden  under  the 
stars;  but  no,  she  is  sleepy !  She  wants  to  get  to  bed  early. 
Even  the  camels  are  most  particular  about  their  bed 
hours.  It  would  be  irritating,  if  you  didn't  secretly  feel 
the  same  yourself.  But  what  a  waste  of  stars! 

Some  old  Day  or  Other:  Interesting  but  dusty  dyke 
road  into  the  Fayoum  oasis.  Every  one  enraged  with 
Robert  Hichens  because  "Bella  Donna's"  Nigel  recom- 
mended The  Fayoum.  "No  wonder  she  poisoned  him!" 
snarled  Mrs.  Harlow.  Our  Arabs  riding  ahead  look  magni- 
ficentj-seeming  to  wade  through  a  flood  of  gold,  the  feet  and 
legs  of  their  camels  floating  in  a  rose-pink  mist.  But  alas^ 
the  flood  of  gold  and  the  rose-pink  mist  are  composed 
of  dust  —  that  reddish  dust  hi  which  presumably  the 
boasted  Fayoum  roses  grow;  and  it  blows  into  our 
noses.  This  upsets  our  tempers,  and  prevents  our  enjoy- 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  233 

ing  the  pictures  we  see  in  the  sudden  transition  from  desert 
to  oasis.  Biblical  patriarchs  on  white  asses,  disputing 
the  high,  narrow  "gisr"  or  dyke  road;  women  with  huge 
gold  nose  rings;  running  processions  of  girls,  in  blowing 
coral  and  copper  robes,  large  ornamental  jars  on  then* 
veiled  heads,  thin  trailing  black  scarves  and  slim  figures 
dark  against  a  sky  of  gold.  Blue-eyed  water-buffaloes  — 
gamoushas  —  and  exaggerated  brown -gray  calves,  with 
wide-open,  boxlike  ears  in  which  you  feel  you  ought  to 
post  something.  Canals  stretching  away  through  emerald 
fields  to  distant  palm  groves;  here  and  there  a  miniature 
cataract;  children  playing  in  the  water,  imps  whose  red 
and  amber  rags  ring  out  high  notes  of  colour  like  the  clash 
of  cymbals;  now  and  then  a  jerboa  or  a  mongoose  waddling 
across  the  path;  travelling  families  on  trotting  donkeys  or 
swinging  camels  who  pass  us  with  difficulty.  Camels 
everywhere,  indeed,  on  dyke  or  in  meadow;  even  the 
clouds  are  shaped  like  camels  who  have  gone  to  heaven 
and  turned  to  mother  o'  pearl.  There  are  horses,  too;  not 
little  sand  stallions  like  ours,  but  ordinary,  plodding 
animals  whose  hoofs  know  only  Fayoum  dust  or  mud.  Our 
desert  creature,  however,  does  not  spurn  them.  On  the 
contrary,  though  he  pretends  not  to  notice  camels,  cows, 
or  buffaloes,  he  whinnies  and  prances  with  delight  when  he 
meets  anything  of  his  own  shape,  and  assumes  hobby- 
horse attitudes,  much  to  the  alarm  of  Cleopatra  and  Miss 
Hassett-Bean.  Also,  just  to  remind  everybody  that 
sand  is  his  element,  he  shies  at  water,  and  almost  swoons 
at  sight  of  the  Fayoum  light  railway. 

Much  wind  again.     But  thank  goodness  out  of  Fayoum 
dust,  and  in  desert  sand  for  lunch!    Prop  up  tent  with  our 


234  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

backs,  leaning  against  the  blast.  However,  we  have  now  a 
special  clothes-brush  for  the  bread,  and  a  moderately  clean 
bandanna  for  the  fruit.  Plates,  we  blow  upon  without  a 
qualm.  Scarabei  gambolling  in  the  sand  around  OUT  feet 
we  pass  unnoticed.  This  is  the  simple  desert  life! 

But  ah,  what  an  encampment  for  the  night!  It  makes 
up  for  everything,  and  a  sudden  realization  of  abound- 
ing health  is  tingling  in  our  veins.  We  adore  the  desert. 
We  want  to  spend  our  lives  in  it.  Thank  goodness  we 
have  two  nights  here,  on  the  golden  shore  of  the  blue 
Birket  Karun,  all  that's  left  of  Lake  Moeris  of  which 
Strabo  and  Herodotus  raved.  From  the  dune-sheltered 
plateau  where  our  white  tents  cluster,  the  glitter  of  water 
in  the  desert  is  like  a  mirage:  a  mysterious,  melancholy 
sheet  of  steel  and  silver  turning  to  ruby  in  the  sunset,  with 
dark  birds  skimming  over  the  clear  surface. 

Suddenly  the  Bible  seems  as  exciting  as  some  wonderful 
novel.  Not  far  from  here  ran  Joseph's  river,  making  the 
desert  to  blossom  like  the  rose.  In  tents  like  ours,  perhaps, 
Abraham  rested  with  Sarah,  planning  how  to  save  himself 
by  giving  her  to  the  Egyptian  king.  To  see  this  lake  is 
like  seeing  a  bright,  living  eye  suddenly  open  in  the  face  of 
a  mummy,  dead  for  six  thousand  years ! 

Our  best  sunset;  romance  but  slightly  damaged  by  an 
Arab  waiter  wrapping  up  his  head  in  a  towel  with  which 
he  had  just  dried  our  teacups  and  no  doubt  will  again. 

Another  Day:  (Merely  slavish  to  look  it  out  in  the 
calendar,  and  besides  there  is  none.)  All  I  know  is,  we've 
had  two  on  the  shore  of  Birket  Kurun  (I  spell  it  a  different 
way  now,  because  no  books  ever  spell  anything  in  Egypt 
twice  alike),  "The  Lake  of  the  Horns";  and  we've  been 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  235 

on  the  water  in  some  very  old  boats,  in  order  to  see  things 
which  may  have  existed  once,  but  don't  now;  and  at 
present  we're  encamped  near  Medinet-el-Fayoum,  a 
kind  of  lesser  Cairo:  originally  named  Medinet-el  Faris, 
City  of  the  Horseman,  because  of  a  Roman  equestrian 
statue  found  in  the  neighbouring  mounds  of  "Crocodilo- 
polis."  We  have  just  arrived,  hot  and  dusty,  with  more 
dust  of  more  Fayoum  than  we  had  before  Lake  Moeris. 
"Fayoum"  means  Country  of  the  Lake  it  seems;  and  it 
really  is  a  great  emerald  cup  sunk  below  the  level  of  the 
Nile  —  as  if  to  dip  up  water  for  its  roses. 

However,  the  Set  is  happy  despite  the  state  of  its  clothes 
and  its  hair.  None  of  us  quite  realized  what  the  Fallah- 
cen  were  really  like  before,  or  that  the  word  Fellal  meant 
"ploughman."  This  has  been  market-day,  and  we  met 
an  endless  stream  of  riding  men,  and  walking  women  with 
black  trailing  garments.  They  had  bought  sheep,  and 
goats,  and  rabbits,  and  quantities  of  rustling,  pale  green 
sugar  cane,  which  they  carried  on  their  shoulders. 

There  were  wild  adventures  for  the  sandcart,  and  watery 
spaces  across  which  Cleopatra  was  carried  (at  her  own 
urgent  request)  by  Anthony;  Miss  Hassett-Bean  by  me 
and  the  strongest  Arab.  There  were  the  wonderfully 
picturesque  squalid  mud  towns  of  Senoures  and  two  or  three 
others,  honey-yellow  in  a  green  mist  of  palms,  against  an 
indigo  sky  with  streaks  of  sunshine  like  bright  bayonets 
of  Djinns.  And  then  Medinet,  through  which  our  caravan 
had  to  pass  en  route  to  camp,  much  to  the  ribald  joy  of 
smart,  silk-robed  Egyptian  "undergrade"  who  strolled 
hand  in  hand  along  the  broad  streets  near  the  University. 
They  were  big,  fantastic  houses  to  suit  modern  Oriental 


236  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

taste,  painted  pink  and  green,  and  set  in  shady  gardens. 
And  between  high  brick  embankments  we  saw  the  river 
Joseph  made  —  swiftly  running,  deep  golden  yellow 
like  the  Nile,  with  ancient  water-wheels  pouring  crystal 
jets  into  enormous  troughs. 

This  was  our  most  fatiguing  day,  and  we  wanted  our 
last  encampment  to  be  the  best.  We  found  the  worst:  a 
suburban  meadow  inhabited  by  goats  and  buffaloes. 
"Can't  we  move  somewhere  else?"  Cleopatra  besought 
Anthony,  to  whom  she  appeals  when  he's  within  appealing 
distance.  "  Isn't  this  tour  for  our  pleasure,  and  can't  we 
do  what  we  like? 

Anthony  absolved  the  camp-makers,  explaining  that  we 
must  be  near  the  town  in  order  to  get  carriages  and  see 
the  sights  we  had  come  to  see.  Also  our  water  supply  had 
given  out,  and  we  must  beg  some  from  the  "government 
people."  He  hinted  that  it  would  be  well  to  make  the 
best  of  things;  but  Cleopatra,  with  her  royal  memories, 
is  not  good  at  making  the  best  of  what  she  doesn't  like. 
She  wants  what  she  wants,  especially  in  her  own  Egypt, 
where  things  ought  to  know  that  they  once  belonged  to 
her.  Miss  Hassett-Bean  is  quite  as  exigeante,  in  a  differ- 
ent way,  more  Biblical,  less  pagan.  Her  criticism  on  the 
encampment  was  that  it,  and  all  her  oasis  experiences,  are 
destroying  her  faith  in  hymns.  "  By  cool  Siloam's  Shady 
Rill,"  for  instance,  used  to  be  her  favourite,  but  she 
doesn't  believe  now  that  Siloam  ever  had  a  rill. 

Later:  11  p.  m.  Fallahcen  and  Fellahah  (doesn't  sound 
female,  but  is)  pretended  to  have  things  to  do  on  the  fron- 
tier of  their  field  and  ours,  as  we  were  settling  in,  and 
stared  unblinkingly  at  us,  whenever  we  stuck  a  nose  out- 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  237 

side  a  tent.  Also  they  laughed.  Also  they  brought  their 
dogs.  But  they  couldn't  spoil  the  sunset,  and  Medinet 
was  a  colourful  picture  of  the  Orient,  towering  against  the 
crimson  west.  I  took  Monny  and  Biddy  into  the  town 
to  see  the  bridge  and  dilapidated  Mosque  of  Kait  Bey, 
with  its  pillars  stolen  from  Arsinoe.  Anthony  took 
Cleopatra,  and  most  of  the  other  unmarried  men  took 
Rachel  Guest.  When  Brigit  remarked  rather  sharply 
upon  the  ex-school  teacher's  popularity,  Monny  laughed 
an  odd,  understanding  little  laugh.  "  I  believe  you  think 
you  know  why  they're  all  so  mad  about  that  girl!"  ex- 
claimed Biddy. 

"Perhaps  I  do, "  smiled  Miss  Gilder. 

"  What  is  her  fascination?  " 

"Bedr  could  have  told  you,  *'  Monny  cryptically  replied. 
"He  told  several  people." 

"What  do  you  mean,  child?  I'm  eating  my  heart  out 
to  know!" 

"Don't  eat  it,  dearest.  You  can't  eat  your  heart 
and  have  it,  too.  And  it's  your  most  important  posses- 
sion. " 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  tease  me  when  I'm  tired.  Is  it 
part  of  the  secret  you  and  Rachel  were  always  giggling 
over,  when  we  first  got  to  Cairo?  " 

"Yes,  dear,  it  is,  if  you  must  know.  But  I  don't  want 
to  tell  even  you  what  the  secret  is,  please!  You  might 
think  it  your  duty  to  spoil  Rachel's  fun,  and  she  and  I  are 
both  enjoying  it  so  much. " 

"Can  you  guess  what  she  means,  Duffer?"  Biddy  ap- 
pealed to  me.  "  You  know  I  wrote  you  that  Monny  and 
Miss  Guest  had  a  secret.  I  thought  afterward  it  might 


238  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

have  been  only  their  plan  to  see  the  hasheesh  den;  but 
since  then  I've  realized  it  was  something  else." 

"Even  if  I  could  guess,  ought  I  to  give  Miss  Gilder 
away,  when  she  has  just  told  you  she  doesn't  want  you  to 
know?  "  I  asked  innocently. 

They  both  turned  on  me  in  a  flash.  (I  expected  that.) 
''Do  you  guess?" 

"I  don't  see,  if  I  do,  why  I  shouldn't  have  my  little 
secret, "  I  mildly  replied.  I  knew  that,  after  this,  Monny 
would  give  me  a  good  deal  of  her  society,  even  though  she 
might  not  have  forgiven  me  for  bolting  to  haul  down 
the  Cook  ensign,  in  the  midst  of  her  confidences.  But  in 
truth  I  have  not  guessed  the  secret !  My  wits  go  wheeling 
round  it,  like  screaming  swallows  who  see  a  crumb. 
I  get  a  glimpse  of  the  crumb,  and  lose  it  again.  In  my 
present  mood  I  almost  regret  that  Bedr  and  his  supposed 
Germans  have  not  dumped  themselves  down  in  our  field. 
It  would  have  been  like  them  to  do  so,  judging  by  the 
aggressive  checks  on  those  mustard  tweeds;  but  as  a 
matter  of  fact  the  party  has  disappeared  from  view  since 
just  before  Birket  Karun.  They  may  have  turned  back  to 
Cairo;  they  may  have  been  swallowed  up  by  a  palsied  sand 
dune;  they  may  have  been  eaten  by  jackals  (we  saw  a  dead 
one),  or  they  may  have  taken  to  the  fleshpots  of  a  Greek 
hotel  in  Medinet;  but  the  fact  remains  that,  just  when  he 
might  be  useful,  Bedr  is  not  to  be  had. 

In  our  tent  to-night,  I  took  advantage  of  our  friend- 
ship to  try  and  draw  Fenton  out  a  little  on  the  sub- 
ject of  his  feelings.  It  seemed  the  right  hour  to  open  the 
door  of  the  soul.  The  Fallaheen  having  taken  their  fami- 
lies home,  our  tent-flaps  were  up,  and  only  the  stars  looked 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  239 

in  —  stars  swarming  like  fireflies  in  the  blue  cup  of  a  hang- 
ing flower;  but  Anthony  would  speak  of  nothing  more 
intimate  than  the  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid,  or 
his  tiresome  sheikh's  tomb.  I  yearned  to  tell  him  of  the 
contretemps  about  the  hieroglyphic  letter,  but  something 
stopped  the  confession  on  the  end  of  my  tongue,  though 
perhaps  in  the  circumstances,  I  owed  it  to  Mrs.  East. 
If  he  had  mentioned  her  name  the  story  might  have  come 
out;  but  the  one  drop  of  Eastern  blood  which  mingles  with 
a  hundred  of  the  West  in  Anthony's  veins  makes  him  sin- 
gularly reserved,  aggravatingly  reticent  where  women  are 
concerned.  I  used  to  think  that  this  was  because  he  was 
not  interested  in  them.  But  something  —  I  can't  explain 
what,  unless  it's  instinct  —  tells  me  that  this  is  no 
longer  the  case.  Another  interest  has  come  into  his  life, 
rivalling  his  soldier  interest,  and  the  secret  hope  buried 
deep  in  our  Mountain.  I  see  it  in  his  eyes.  I  hear  it  in 
the  timbre  of  his  voice.  It  means  Woman.  But  what 
woman?  Is  Monny  right?  Is  he  falling  seriously  in  love 
for  the  first  time  in  his  strenuous  Life  with  Biddy,  whom  he 
picked  out  for  admiration  the  moment  he  set  eyes  on  her? 
Or  is  it  Monny  herself?  I  must  be  a  dog  in  the  manger, 
because  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  its  being  either. 

He  is  asleep  on  the  other  side  of  the  tent  as  I  write.  Desert 
dogs  do  not  disturb  him.  He's  great  on  concentrating  his 
mind,  and  when  he  goes  to  sleep  he  concentrates  on  that. 

I  wish  he'd  talk  in  his  sleep!  But  even  in  uncon- 
sciousness, he  is  discreet  as  a  statue. 

The  Last  Day.  Evening:  I  am  in  disgrace,  and  am 
left  alone  to  bear  it,  so  I  may  as  well  finish  my  Desert 
Diary.  It's  all  an  account  of  a  lamb,  just  an  ordinary, 


240  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

modern  lamb  you  might  meet  anywhere.  But  I  mustn't 
begin  with  that,  though  it  haunts  me.  In  spirit  it's  here 
in  the  tent,  sitting  at  my  feet,  staring  up  into  my  face. 
Avaunt,  lamb!  Thy  blood  is  not  on  my  head.  Go  to 
those  who  deserve  thee.  I  wish  to  write  of  Crocodilopolis. 
Shetet,  the  city  was  called  in  the  beginning  of  things; 
Shetet,  or  the  "Reclaimed,"  for  the  Egyptians  stole  land 
from  the  water,  and  made  it  the  capital  of  their  great  Lake 
Province,  which  Ptolemy  Philadelphus  renamed  to  please 
his  adored  wife.  Queen  Arsinoe  was  charming,  no  doubt; 
and  the  Greek  rums  and  papyri  of  her  day  are  interesting, 
but  it  is  the  city  sacred  to  the  crocodile  god  Sebek  which 
can  alone  distract  my  thoughts  now  from  the  tragedy  of 
the  black  Iamb.  If  his  Ka  refuses  to  go  I  shall  set  croco- 
diles at  it  —  ghosts  of  crocodiles  mummied  somewhere 
under  the  desert  hills  which  separate  the  Fayoum  from 
the  Nile  Valley. 

We  drove  out  to  the  ruins  in  a  string  of  hired  carriages, 
at  an  incredibly  early  hour  this  morning.  As  the  night 
was  one  long  dog-howl,  and  the  dawn  one  overwhelming 
cockcrow,  people  were  thankful  to  get  up.  But  what  a 
waste  of  hardly  obtained  baths  before  the  start !  Between 
Medinet  and  Crocodilopolis  rose  a  solid  wall  of  red  dust. 
We  had  to  break  through  it,  as  firemen  dash  through  the 
smoke  of  a  burning  house;  and  when  our  arabeahs  stopped 
at  the  foot  of  a  mountainous  mound,  about  a  mile  out  of 
Medinet,  the  dust  had  come  too.  Scrambling  up,  with 
the  wind  on  our  backs,  we  began  to  breathe;  but  it  was  not 
until  we  had  ascended  to  the  old  guard  house  on  top  of  the 
pottery  strewn  height,  that  we  could  draw  a  clean  breath. 
Then  the  reward  was  worth  the  pains. 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  241 

Down  below  us,  seen  as  from  a  bird's-eye  view,  lay  a 
vast,  unroofed  honeycomb.  It's  size  was  incredible.  The 
thing  could  not  really  be  there.  It  was  a  startling  dream, 
that  endless  gold-brown  city  of  regular  streets,  and  mud 
brick  buildings,  big  and  small,  shops  and  houses,  theatres 
and  libraries,  lacking  only  their  roofs,  deserted  save  by 
ghosts  for  thousands  of  years,  yet  looking  as  though  it  had 
been  destroyed  by  a  cyclone  yesterday.  Down  there  in 
the  devastated  beehive  myriads  of  bees  still  worked 
frantically,  human  bees,  which  Cleopatra  said  were  rein- 
carnations of  those  who  had  owned  slaves  and  killed  them 
with  forced  labour,  when  Shetet  was  among  the  richest 
cities  of  the  "  Two  Lands. "  These  bees  of  to-day  worked 
to  destroy,  not  to  recreate,  for  the  crumbling  brick  is  the 
best  of  fertilizers  —  and  fertilizing  their,  land  is  the  one 
great  interest  in  life  for  the  Fellaheen  of  the  Fayoum. 
Furiously  they  tore  at  the  remaining  walls;  furiously  they 
packed  away  their  treasure  of  dried  mud  in  sacks;  furiously 
they  piled  it  on  backs  of  donkeys  and  rushed  away  to 
make  room  for  others.  Each  instarit  hundreds  of  wild 
figures  in  dusty  black  or  blue  scampered  off,  beating 
loaded  donkeys,  only  to  be  replaced  by  hundreds  more 
doing  the  same  thing  in  the  same  manner.  Yet  always  a 
few  forms  remained  stationary.  They  were  police  guar- 
dians of  the  ruins,  men  armed  with  staves,  whose  busi- 
ness was  to  oversee  each  worker's  sack,  lest  some  rare 
roll  of  papyri,  some  rich  jewel  which  once  adorned  a  pam- 
pered crocodile  of  the  lake,  should  be  found  and  stolen. 
Glimpsed  through  the  red  flame  of  blowing,  ruby  dust, 
the  scene  was  a  vision  of  Inferno;  we  on  our  mount  looking 
down  on  it  were  in  company  of  Dante  and  Virgil. 


242  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

The  rest  of  the  day  we  gave  to  a  light-railway  excursion 
to  HJahun  and  the  brick  Pyramid  of  Hawara.  There  was 
much  laughing  and  shrieking  among  the  girls  of  the  Set 
(I  don't  count  Monny,  who  shrieks  for  nothing  less  terrible 
than  the  largest  spiders)  as  Arabs  pushed  our  trolley  cars 
along  the  line;  and  we  were  frivolous  even  on  the  site  of  the 
labyrinth  which  was,  perhaps,  copied  from  the  Laby- 
rinth of  Crete. 

The  Set  were  frankly  disappointed  in  the  few  remains 
of  granite  columns  and  carvings;  but  vague  memories  of 
jewels  seen  at  the  Egyptian  Museum  waked  an  interest  in 
the  brick  pyramid  tomb  at  Hawara  where  King  Amenem- 
hat  and  his  daughter  Ptah-nefru  lay  for  a  few  thousand 
years.  All  of  us  were  eager  for  the  "last  camp  tea,"  when 
we  got  "home"  from  our  expedition,  and  it  was  then  that 
the  tragedy  happened:  the  tragedy  of  the  black.lamb. 

How  could  I  guess,  when  Yusef  said  the  camel-boys 
wanted  money  to  buy  meat  as  a  feast  for  the  last  day,  that 
they  meant  to  buy  it  alive? 

When  we  arrived  in  camp,  an  idyllic  scene  was  being 
enacted.  A  woolly  black  lamb  with  a  particularly  engag- 
ing facial  expression  was  being  hospitably  entertained  by  all 
our  men  with  the  exception  of  the  chef.  They  formed  an 
admiring  ring  round  it,  taking  turns  in  feeding  it  with 
bersim,  and  patting  its  delightfully  innocent  head.  It 
was  difficult  to  say  which  was  happier,  the  charming 
guest  or  its  kind  hosts. 

"How  sweet  of  them!"  said  Miss  Hassett-Bean.  "I 
must  write  a  few  verses  about  this,  for  our  home  paper ! n 

Everybody  joined  with  her  in  thinking  the  Arabs  sweet, 
and  Enid  Biddell  went  round  and  took  up  a  collection. 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  243 

The  men  arranged  a  football  match  for  our  benefit,  to  show 
their  gratitude,  and  played  so  well  and  were  so  pictur- 
esque that  Sir  John  and  other  ardent  sportsmen  pressed 
more  money  upon  them.  It  was  altogether  a  red-letter 
day  for  the  camel-boys,  quite  apart  from  the  fact  that  they 
would  get  rid  of  their  noble  benefactors  to-morrow;  and 
by  way  of  a  climax  they  had  what  we  supposed  to  be  a 
bonfire  at  dark. 

"Aren't  all  those  white  figures  wonderful,  grouped 
round  the  blaze?"  asked  Monny,  who  appeared  on  the 
whole  satisfied  with  the  way  in  which  the  desert  had  taken 
her.  "And  look,  the  flames  are  reflected  on  the  clouds. 
I  do  believe  it's  going  to  rain,  if  such  a  thing  can  happen 
here !  I  hope  it  won't  spoil  the  poor  darlings'  celebration. 
Why,  they  seem  to  have  something  big  and  black  hanging 
over  the  fire.  What  can  it  be?  Oh,  it  looks  awful!" 

"It  is  not  awful,  mees, "  Yusef,  standing  near,  good 
naturedly  reassured  her.  "It  very  naice.  It  is  the  lamb, 
they  cook  for  then-  supper.  The  genelman,  milord,  he 
give  them  money  to  buy  it. " 

"Lamb?  "shrieked  Monny, in  a  wild  voice  which  brought 
a  crowd  round  us.  "Lamb!  Not  —  oh,  not " 

"  Yes,  mees,  you  all  see  it  feeded  when  you  come  home, 
when  you  say  it  so  sweet.  Camel-boys  find  sweeter 
now!" 

"  Oh ! "  the  girl  exclaimed.  "  Fiends !  They  invited  that 
lamb  here,  and  brought  it  in  their  arms  and  played  with  it 
and  did  everything  they  could  to  make  it  think  it  was 
having  a  pleasant  afternoon,  and  then  —  they  killed  it!" 

"Of  course,  yes,  mees,"  said  Yusef,  puzzled.  "Why 
else  for  milord  tell  they  can  buy  it?  They  kill  and  pound 


244  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

it  up  to  make  it  good,  and  soon  they  eat  in  honour  of  the 
genelmen  and  ladies  who  have  been  so  kind  this  naice  trip." 

"I  should  like  to  kill  them!"  gasped  Monny,  preparing 
to  cry,  and  flinging  herself  into  Biddy's  arms.  "Oh  — 
somebody  give  me  a  hanky  —  quick! " 

We  all  felt  mechanically  in  our  pockets;  but  I,  being 
nearest,  was  first  in  the  field.  It  was  a  shock  to  see  Monny 
wave  my  handkerchief  away  with  a  gesture  of  horror,  and 
bury  her  face  in  a  far  inferior  one  tendered  by  Anthony. 

"No  wonder!"  exclaimed  Miss  Hassett-Bean,  who  is 
not,  as  a  rule,  a  Monny -ite.  "You're  quite  right,  Miss 
Gilder.  Lord  Ernest  Borrow,  I  don't  see  much  difference 
between  you  and  a  murderer!" 

For  a  minute,  I  did  not  know  what  she  meant.  Then  it 
broke  upon  me  that  the  Arabs'  monstrous  breach  of  hos- 
pitality to  the  lamb  was  laid  at  my  door.  I  jabbered 
explanations,  but  no  one  listened;  and  just  then  the  rain, 
which  nobody  had  believed  in,  seized  the  opportunity  of 
coming  down  in  floods.  The  camels  roared  with  rage  and 
surprise;  the  camel-boys  swore  Arab  oaths;  the  fire  sput- 
tered, and  what  became  of  the  half -cooked  lamb  I  shall 
never  know.  We  rushed  for  the  dining-tent,  all  soaked 
in  an  instant,  with  the  exception  of  Brigit  and  Monny, 
whom  "Antoun"  protected  with  a  long  cloak. 

Dinner  was  a  gloomy  feast,  which  might  have  been 
composed  of  funeral  baked  meats,  though  the  chef  himself 
came  to  the  door  and  vowed  by  all  his  saints  that  the  lamb 
cutlets  were  not  from  that  lamb.  So  well  did  he  exonerate 
himself,  so  eloquently  did  he  protest  that  he  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  camel-boys'  orgy,  that  another  special 
collection  was  taken  up  for  him. 


TO  ITS  BITTER  END  245 

"Poor,  dear  old  gentleman!"  sighed  Miss  Hassett-Bean. 
"I  shall  never  be  able  to  forget  him.  When  I'm  out  of 
this  awful  country  of  cannibals,  and  safe  in  my  own  home, 
he  will  simply  haunt  me,  passing  his  respectable  old  age, 
black  though  he  is,  chasing  across  deserts  on  camels, 
wrapped  in  a  blanket  and  covered  with  chicken  coops, 
at  the  mercy  of  any  queer  Christian  who  can  afford  to 
pay  for  him.  It's  a  tragedy! " 

Perhaps  she  wrote  her  poem  about  the  cook  instead  of 
the  camel-boys.  Luckily,  however,  at  the  last  moment  I 
remembered  a  superstition  of  the  Ancient  Egyptians. 
They  were  in  the  habit  of  sacrificing  a  black  lamb  to 
propitiate  Set,  the  sender  of  storms.  Our  lamb  was 
black :  and  at  the  hour  of  his  untimely  death  a  storm  was 
coming  up.  The  dreadful  deed,  therefore,  was  turned  into 
a  Rite. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
AN  OILED  HAND 

THAT  is  where  my  diary  of  the  desert  stopped;  for  the 
adventure  that  ended  our  trip  was  not  of  the  sort  that 
mixes  well  with  tragedies  of  lambs. 

Before  dinner  Monny  had  apologized  for  refusing  my 
handkerchief,  I  really  believe  because  she  was  sorry  she 
had  misunderstood,  not  because  the  rain  had  leaked 
through  her  tent,  and  she  wanted  me  to  give  her  mine. 
In  fact,  she  and  Biddy  refused  pointblank  at  first  when 
Anthony  and  I  suggested  the  change.  They  would  not 
have  told  us  that  the  water  had  come  in  on  their  beds  if 
they  had  thought  we  would  suggest  such  a  thing.  All 
they  wished  for  was  to  have  the  tent-roof  somehow  mended 
before  matters  got  worse.  But  we  insisted,  especially  Fen- 
ton;  and  he  is  difficult  to  disobey.  A  look  from  him,  and  a 
drawing  together  of  the  black  eyebrows  has  the  same  effect 
on  the  mind  of  a  rebellious  woman  as  an  "Off  with  her 
head!"  from  an  Arabian  Nights  Sultan,  while  I  might 
vainly  exert  my  ingenuity  to  achieve  the  result  he  gets  by 
sheer  mysterious  magnetism. 

It  was  bedtime  when  the  leak  showed  itself,  but  the 
change  of  quarters  was  accomplished  with  military 
quickness  and  precision,  as  Fenton's  undertakings  gen- 
erally are;  and  almost  before  they  knew  what  had  hap- 

246 


AN  OILED  HAND  247 

pened,  Monny  and  Brigit,  who  had  been  tent-mates  during 
the  tour,  found  themselves  transferred  bag  and  baggage 
to  our  tent,  with  the  last  clean  sheets  in  the  bedroom- 
Arab's  possession. 

Transferred,  we  set  ourselves  to  making  repairs,  and 
soon  patched  up  the  leaks.  Rain  at  this  season  comes  so 
rarely,  it  was  not  surprising  that  a  stitch  or  two  had  been 
neglected. 

Only  the  pillows  and  upper  blankets  had  had  time  to 
get  wet,  and  we  had  but  to  remove  the  coverings  and  turn 
the  pillows.  We  both  did  this  simultaneously,  and  simul- 
taneously exclaimed  "Hullo!" 

"They've  left  their  treasures"  said  Anthony,  not  with 
quite  the  masculine  scorn  of  feminine  weaknesses  I  was  used 
to  noticing  in  him.  Indeed,  he  spoke  almost  tenderly,  as  a 
father  might  speak  at  finding  the  forgotten  doll  of  an 
absent  child. 

Each  of  us  stood  with  a  wet  pillow  in  his  hand,  gazing 
at  his  borrowed  bunk.  In  the  one  I  had  selected,  lay  a 
small  chamois-skin  bag,  attached  to  a  narrow  pink  rib- 
bon. In  the  bed  chosen  by  Fenton,  was  a  tiny  white 
enamelled  watch,  on  a  platinum  chain.  Both  these 
things  had  been  covered  by  their  respective  owners' 
pillows,  and  forgotten  in  the  hasty  change  of  quarters. 
The  watch  was  Monny's.  She  wore  it  round  her  neck 
every  day  —  therefore  the  chamois-skin  bag  on  the  other 
bed  must  be  Brigit's.  I  told  myself  that  in  it  she  probably 
kept  her  pathetic  store  of  money,  hidden  under  her  bodice 
by  day,  her  pillow  by  night;  and  beholding  this  intimate 
souvenir  of  my  childhood's  friend,  my  heart  yearned  over 
her. 


248  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Too  late  to  rouse  them  up  now, "  said  Anthony. 

"Yes,"  said  I.  "We  must  have  been  twenty  minutes 
or  half  an  hour  getting  the  roof  to  rights.  They  may  be 
asleep,  and  if  not,  they  won't  worry  anyhow.  They'll 
know  that  their  things  are  safe  till  to-morrow  morning." 

Fenton  agreed  with  this  verdict,  and  each  keeping 
charge  of  his  own  treasure  trove,  we  went  to  bed  and  to 
sleep. 

I  am  a  champion  dreamer.  So  much  so,  that  I  often 
find  the  life  of  dreamland  rivalling  hi  interest  the  life  this 
side  of  sleep.  I  look  forward  to  my  dreams,  as  some 
people  look  forward  to  an  int cresting  dinner-party;  but 
that  night  I  was  too  tired  to  inspect  the  dream-menu, 
before  lying  down  to  it.  The  first  thing  I  knew,  a  hand- 
some Egyptian  god  with  crystal  eyes,  like  those  which 
Bill  Bailey  means  to  make  the  fashion,  stood  by  my  bed- 
side. I  asked  him  politely  whether  he  were  Ra  or  Osiris, 
deliberately  picking  the  two  best  gods  of  the  bunch  hi 
order  to  flatter  him;  but  without  answering,  he  pointed  a 
bronze  hand  to  the  mat  on  which  he  stood.  It  was  a 
white  mat,  and  on  it  I  read  a  word  which  evidently  he 
meant  me  to  take  as  his  name:  TAM  HTAB.  For  an 
instant  it  seemed  to  me  a  fine  name  for  an  Egyptian  god, 
though  I  hadn't  met  it  before.  Then  I  burst  out  laughing 
disrespectfully.  "Why,  you're  only  a  Bath  Mat  wrong 
side  out!"  I  heard  myself  sneering;  and  the  god  dis- 
appeared as  a  flash  of  lightning  comes  and  is  gone.  In 
going,  however,  he  stumbled  slightly  against  the  bed.  It 
was  a  mere  touch;  but  that,  or  my  own  voice,  half  waked 
me  up. 

"TAM  HTAB,"  I  mumbled  dreamily;  and  was  just 


AN  OILED  HAND  249 

reminding  myself  before  dropping  off  to  sleep  again  that 
I  must  tell  Biddy  about  the  new  bath  god,  when  I  realized 
that  he  had  not  quite  gone.  No,  not  quite  gone!  It 
must  be  he  who  still  lingered  by  the  bed,  for  it  could  be 
nobody  else.  Anthony  would  not  come  and  hover  sil- 
ently at  my  bedside  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  Besides, 
I  was  almost  awake  now,  and  I  could  hear  the  gentle, 
regular  breathing  of  a  man  asleep :  Anthony's  breathing. 

"  Go  away,  TAM  HTAB, "  I  tried  to  say,  but  I  was  not 
awake  enough  to  speak.  He  was  bending  over  the  bed. 
His  face  was  near  to  mine.  I  felt  rather  than  saw  it. 
"How  could  I  see  in  the  dark?"  sleepily,  even  fretfully,  I 
asked  myself.  And  yet,  IMS  the  tent  dark?  ...  It 
had  been,  I  remembered  that.  I  remembered  that  An- 
thony had  got  to  bed  first,  and  I  had  extinguished  the  two 
candles  on  the  washhand-stand.  Afterward,  I  had  had  to 
grope  my  way  to  the  bed.  Now,  however,  there  was  a 
light  ...  a  very  faint,  rather  curious  light.  There 
seemed  to  be  only  a  square  of  it,  a  square  sloped  off  at 
the  top.  It  was  opposite  my  eyes,  which  really  were 
open  now,  I  felt  sure.  I  couldn't  be  dreaming  this.  It 
was  like  a  queer-shaped  window  in  the  blackness,  a  win- 
dow full  of  starlight,  but  close  to  the  floor.  Then  the 
rain  must  have  stopped.  The  stars  must  be  out.  Yes, 
but  how  could  I  see  that?  There  was  no  window  in  the 
tent. 

This  thought  dragged  the  last  film  of  sleep  off  my  tired 
brain,  like  a  veil  snatched  away  by  impatient  fingers  on  an 
unseen  hand. 

Odd!  Those  very  words  said  over  themselves  in  my 
head:  "Fingers  on  an  unseen  hand."  And  that  was 


250  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

because  a  hand  was  being  slipped  cautiously,  inch  by  inch, 
under  my  pillow.  It  was  the-  Egyptian  god's  hand.  But 
I  knew  suddenly  that  the  dream-god  had  turned  into  a 
thief:  that  the  silver-glimmering  square  of  light  was  one  of 
the  tent  flaps  unbuttoned  and  turned  back.  That  the  man 
must  stealthily  have  pulled  up  a  peg  or  two  while  we  slept 
our  heavy  sleep,  must  have  crept  into  the  tent,  soft-footed 
over  the  thick  rugs,  and  now  here  he  was,  trying  to  steal. 
After  that,  I  did  not  go  on  with  the  thought.  My  dull 
reasoning  snapped  off  as  short  as  a  dry  stick.  I  made  a 
grab  for  the  hand  under  my  pillow,  seized  a  wrist,  held  it 
for  an  instant  in  a  grip  which  must  have  hurt,  then  had 
the  shame  and  disappointment  of  feeling  it  slip  out  of  my 
grasp,  like  a  greased  snake.  There  was  a  stifled  exclama- 
tion of  pain  or  surprise,  scarcely  louder  than  a  sigh,  and 
I  was  out  of  bed  and  after  a  shadow  that  ran  for  the  low 
square  of  starlight.  Something  caught  and  tripped  me 
as  I  reached  the  opening.  What  it  was  I  did  not  know 
then  and  don't  know  now,  but  I  had  a  vague  impression 
that  it  was  warm.  If  I  had  stumbled  against  a  bare  leg 
thrust  out  to  stop  me,  it  would  have  felt  like  that.  Yet 
it  could  not  have  been  the  leg  of  the  man  running  away. 
He  was  using  both  his,  and  must  have  used  them  well, 
for  I  was  up  and  out  from  under  the  lifted  tent  flap  which 
had  fallen  on  top  of  me  as  I  tumbled,  before  I  could 
have  counted  five.  Very  wide  awake  now,  I  stood  in  the 
rough,  sandy  grass,  under  a  sky  encrusted  with  stars,  and 
could  see  no  one.  Barefooted,  I  pattered  this  way  and 
that,  searching  every  shadow,  but  the  whole  camp  seemed 
an  abode  of  peace.  There  was  not  a  sound  or  movement 
even  in  the  black  ring  of  sleeping  camels.  Rain  had 


AN  OILED  HAND  251 

driven  to  shelter  the  roving  dogs  which  had  troubled  us 
last  night.  The  camp  lanterns  burned  clear  and  strong, 
yellow  and  crude  in  the  silver  flood  of  starlight  which 
dulled  their  radiance.  The  smell  of  earth  and  grass  after 
the  heavy  shower  was  like  the  fragrance  of  tea  roses. 
Could  it  be  that  an  evil,  stealthy  presence  had  but  just 
broken  this  sweet  serenity  with  its  vile  intention,  or  had 
the  whole  incident  been  after  all  a  singularly  vivid  dream? 
I  should  have  believed  so,  if  my  hand  which  had  clutched 
that  other  hand,  had  not  been  slippery  with  oil. 

No,  I  had  not  dreamed.  And  suddenly  a  troubling 
thought  leaped  into  my  mind.  "Biddy!"  The  name 
sprang  to  my  lips  and  spoke  itself  aloud. 

If  this  were  for  her!  I  had  laughed  at  her  forebodings. 
Sensational  revenges  such  as  she  feared  seemed  so  incon- 
gruous, so  utterly  unsuited  to  those  laughing,  long-lashed 
eyes  of  hers!  Yet  she  had  in  her  past  life  lived  side  by 
side  with  fear  and  tragedy  for  more  years  than  I  liked  to 
count.  And  as  she  said,  men  such  as  those  whom  Richard 
O'Brien  had  betrayed  had  been  known  to  reach  out  very 
far  to  take  revenge.  Biddy  had  done  nothing.  Surely 
they  owed  her  no  grudge.  But  she  had  known  things. 
Perhaps  they  thought  that  she  knew  even  more  than  she 
did  know.  Their  organization  was  rich  as  well  as  power- 
ful. It  had  many  branches.  Yet  why  should  men  use  its 
power  to  hurt  the  widow  of  a  dead  enemy,  now  that  they 
—  or  fate  —  had  put  him  underground? 

In  a  flash  I  remembered  the  chamois-skin  bag,  which 
she  had  forgotten  under  the  pillow:  and  lifting  the  loos- 
ened canvas  flap  with  its  dangling  pegs,  I  stooped  to  go 
back  into  the  tent.  Inside,  I  expected  to  find  darkness, 


252  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

but  instead  I  found  light;  Anthony  up,  setting  a  match 
to  a  candle  wick,  and  looking  a  tall,  dark  silhouette  in  his 
pyjamas. 

"What's  the  row?"  he  calmly  wanted  to  know  —  too 
calmly  to  suit  my  ruffled  mood. 

"A  thief,  that's  all,"  I  answered,  hastily  searching  under 
the  pillow  where  the  unseen  hand  had  been.  Sheet  and 
pillow-case  were  slimy  with  oil,  yet  the  chamois-skin  bag 
was  safe.  ''But  he  didn't  get  what  he  wanted !"  I  finished. 

"Good,"  said  Anthony,  who  had  lighted  both  candles. 
"Let's  go  look  for  him. " 

"  I've  been,  and  couldn't  see  anything. " 

"I  know.  I  heard  a  sound.  I  sang  out,  and  you 
didn't  answer,  so  I  thought  something  must  be  up.  Let's 
have  another  try.  I've  got  Miss  Gilder's  watch. " 

I  slipped  Biddy's  bag  into  the  pocket  of  my  pyjamas, 
and  pulling  on  our  boots  we  went  out  into  the  night. 

"It's  their  tent  I'm  thinking  of,"  I  said,  though  I'd 
never  talked  of  Brigit  O'Brien's  affairs  to  Fenton.  "If 
some  one  had  planned  to  rob  them,  not  knowing  of  the 
change  we  made  at  the  last  minute " 

"All  our  Arabs  did  know " 

"I'm  not  talking  of  them.  We've  been  here  two  days. 
Any  one  could  have  spied  on  us  enough  to  find  out  which 
tent  was  Mrs.  Jones'  and  Miss  Gilder's. " 

"You're  thinking  of  Bedr?  " 

"Well,  yes,  I  suppose  I  am.  Biddy  never  believed 
they  were  Germans.  ** 

"Who,  those  chaps  in  checked  clothes  he  had  in  tow? 
By  Jove !  yes  —  I  heard  her  speak  of  a  scar  on  the  forehead 
of  one. " 


AN  OILED  HAND  253 

"She  thought  he  might  have  been  Burke,  the  fellow  in 
the  street  row,  that  night  at  the  House  of  the  Crocodile." 

"These  things  happen  to  heiresses  in  old-fashioned 
story  books,"  saM  Anthony.  "But  there's  nothing  that 
happens  in  a  story  which  can't  happen  in  real  life,  I 
suppose  —  especially  to  such  a  girl.  She " 

"  Oh,  but  I  wasn't  thinking  of  her ! "  I  began,  then  stopped, 
shocked  because  it  was  true,  and  also  because  I  was  unwill- 
ing to  tell  why  my  thoughts  had  turned  to  "  Mrs.  Jones. " 

"We  must  find  out  if  they're  safe,"  I  went  on.  "The 
thieves  seem  to  have  got  clear  away  and  we're  not  likely 
to  find  them,  unless  they've  gone  to  our  old  tent " 

"Come  along,"  said  Anthony.  "We'll  slip  on  some- 
thing, and  call  the  ladies  as  softly  as  we  can,  not  to  dis- 
turb the  others  and  have  the  whole  camp  buzzing  like  a 
beehive.  When  we're  sure  they're  all  right,  we  can  attend 
to  such  details  as  searching  for  tracks. " 

He  seemed  as  eager  as  I  was,  to  know  that  the  two 
women  were  safe;  but  there  was  no  sign  to  tell  me  about 
which  one  he  chiefly  concerned  himself. 

A  minute  transformed  him  from  a  pyjamaed  English- 
man into  a  robed  Egyptian  of  that  old-fashioned  order 
which  despises  things  European.  Only,  he  forgot  to  put 
on  his  turban.  I  didn't  think  of  the  omission  myself  at  the 
time,  but  I  recalled  it  later. 

Going  to  the  tent  which  had  been  ours,  I  scratched  on 
the  tight  drawn  canvas  near  the  spot  where  I  knew  one  of 
the  folding  iron  bedsteads  was  placed.  "  Biddy  —  Biddy !" 
I  called  gently,  and  after  a  few  repetitions  I  heard  her 
voice,  rather  sleepy,  a  little  anxious,  cry,  "Is  that  you, 
Duffer?" 


254  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Yes,"  I  whispered,  seeing  the  tent  quiver  in  the  region 
of  some  big  cushiony  buttons.  "'Antoun'  and  I  are  both 
here.  But  don't  be  scared.  Could  you  come  and  peep 
out  from  under  the  door  flap  a  minute?  " 

"Yes, "  said  she.     "Go  round  there,  and  I'll  come." 

There  was  not  much  delay,  for  Biddy's  crinkled  black 
hair  needs  no  night  disfigurements  by  way  of  patent  cur- 
lers. In  a  few  seconds  the  door  flap  waved,  and  Biddy 
looked  out  into  the  starlight,  the  yellow  glimmer  of  a 
candle  flame  within  the  tent  silhouetting  the  Japanesey 
little  figure  wrapped  in  a  kimono.  Behind  her  dark  head 
and  above  it,  floated  a  mist  of  bronzy  gold,  which  I  took  to 
be  Miss  Gilder's  hair.  There  seemed  to  be  quantities  of 
it,  and  I  should  have  been  feverishly  interested  in  won- 
dering how  long  it  was,  if  I  had  had  time  to  think  of  any- 
thing but  my  thankfulness  that  Biddy  and  Monny  were 
both  safe. 

"Are  either  of  you  ill?"  asked  the  creamy  Irish  voice 
which  had  never  sounded  hah*  so  sweet  as  now,  in  the 
starlight  and  fragrance  of  this  strange  night.  "Because 
if  you  are,  I've  some  lovely  medicine " 

"I  wouldn't  frighten  them  any  more  than  I  could  help, 
if  I  were  you, "  I  heard  Fenton  mumbling  advice  in  mufBed 
tones  at  my  back. 

For  obvious  reasons  I  made  no  audible  answer;  but  I 
had  just  been  resolving  not  to  tell  Biddy  my  suspicions 
unless  it  were  necessary  to  do  so. 

"No,  we're  not  ill,"  I  assured  her.  "But  there's  been 
a  silly  sort  of  scare  about  a  sneak  thief:  may  have  been  a 
false  alarm,  and  we  won't  say  anything  about  it  to- 
morrow, if  others  don't.  We're  horribly  sorry  to  disturb 


AN  OILED  HAND  255 

you  and  Miss  Gilder,  but  we  couldn't  rest  without  making 
sure  you  hadn't  been  worried." 

"  You  heard  nothing,  did  you,  Monny?  "  Brigit  threw 
a  question  over  her  shoulder  to  the  floating  mist  of  gold. 

"No,  and  I  wasn't  asleep  either,"  Miss  Gilder's  voice 
answered.  "I  was  lying  awake  thinking  about  its  being 
our  last  night  —  and  lots  of  things. " 

"  I  was  lying  half  awake,  too,  thinking  of  '  lots  of  things,' " 
Biddy  mimicked  her  friend,  "or  I  shouldn't  have  heard 
you  so  easily  when  you  scratched  on  the  canvas.  Oh,  by 
the  way,  Duffer,  did  you  or  Antoun  Effendi  find  a  little 
chamois-skin  bag  under  the  pillow?  " 

"I  found  it,"  said  I,  and  this  gave  me  a  chance  I  had 
been  wanting  but  hadn't  quite  known  how  to  snatch.  "  I 
was  rather  worried  over  the  responsibility.  Of  course 
you  knew  that  we'd  take  care  of  your  treasures." 

"It's  all  my  money,  and  —  and  just  one  other  thing!" 
Biddy  answered,  with  an  odd  little  hesitation  in  her  manner 
and  a  catch  in  her  voice.  "I  should  hate  to  have  anybody 
open  that  bag.  I'm  thankful  it's  safe.  With  you,  I 
know  it's  sacred.  All  the  same,  I'd  like  to  have  it,  if  you 
don't  mind  the  bother. " 

"You  oughtn't  to  carry  the  thing  about  with  you,  if 
it's  so  important,"  I  scolded  her.  "Why  not  leave  your 
secret  treasure,  whatever  it  is,  and  most  of  your  money, 
in  Cairo,  when  you  come  off  on  an  expedition  like  this?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  she  mumbled  evasively.  "I'm  used 
to  having  this  thing  with  me.  I  can't  think  how  I  forgot 
it  under  my  pillow.  I  never  have  before.  It  isn't  the 
sort  of  —  of  valuable  one  keeps  in  a  bank.  Monny  em- 
broidered the  bag  when  she  was  a  little  girl.  It  was  her 


256  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

first  work.  I  taught  her  how  to  do  it,  and  she  gave  it  to  me 
for  a  birthday  present.  I  wouldn't  lose  it  for  the  world." 

"You  shan't,"  I  said  soothingly.  I  had  heard  what  I 
had  been  afraid  to  hear;  but  why  should  Biddy's  trip  be 
spoiled  by  another  worry  if  I  could  shield  her?  We  could 
not  know  that  the  oiled  hand  had  been  groping  for  that 
bag;  and  I  resolved  not  to  distress  Brigit  by  putting  the 
idea  into  her  head  at  present.  "  Go  to  sleep  again  in  peace, 
both  of  you,"  I  went  on.  "All's  well,  since  you  are  well. 
Probably  some  prowler  has  been  sneaking  round  the 
kitchen-tent. " 

"Yes.  The  news  of  the  lamb  has  gone  forth!"  said 
Biddy.  "Good  night!" 

"Goodnight!"     I  answered. 

Down  went  the  tent  flap,  and  hid  the  sparkle  of  eyes  in 
starsheen,  and  mist  of  gold  in  wavering  candle-light.  We 
trusted  that  the  two  had  crept  back  into  their  beds;  but 
we  did  not  return  to  ours.  We  took  one  of  the  camp 
lanterns  and  searched  for  footprints  —  those  which  were 
freshest  after  the  rain.  The  rough  grass  growing  sparsely 
out  of  the  sandy  earth  was  not  favourable  to  such  attempts, 
however;  and  even  at  dawn,  when  we  looked  again  before 
the  camp  was  stirring,  we  made  no  notable  discoveries 
such  as  amateur  detectives  make,  in  books. 

Our  next  expedition,  as  soon  as  light  came,  was  to  the 
town,  where  we  inquired  at  the  few  hotels,  and  put  ques- 
tions to  the  police.  Nobody  answering  the  description 
of  Bedr  and  his  two  companions  had  been  seen  in  Medinet, 
and  we  had  to  go  back  to  camp  baffled. 

There  was  our  adventure;  and  when  we  reached  Cairo 
by  train,  the  mystery  of  the  oiled  hand  was  still  unsolved. 


xvn 

THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  AGAIN 

I  EXPECTED  a  black  mark  for  the  lamb  and  every  little 
desert  difficulty,  but,  to  my  surprise,  only  our  joys  were 
remembered.  Those  who  had  stayed  in  Cairo  exchanged 
tales  with  the  desert  travellers,  and  it  was  astonishing  to 
hear  what  a  marvellous  week  we  had  had.  Each  day  had 
been  better  than  its  brother.  In  fact,  our  trip  had  been 
one  long,  glorious  dream  of  golden  sands  and  amethyst 
sunsets;  the  camels  were  as  easy  to  ride  as  sofas,  and  com- 
bined the  intelligence  of  human  beings  with  the  disposi- 
tion of  angels;  the  camp  was  as  luxurious  as  the  Savoy  or 
the  Plaza;  and  to  me  and  that  wonderful  Antoun  Effendi 
all  credit  was  suddenly  due.  Not  to  be  outdone,  the 
stayers  in  Cairo  had  had  the  "time  of  their  lives. "  They 
had  not  been  herded  together  like  animals  in  a  menagerie, 
as  in  Colonel  Corkran's  day.  The  girls  had  not  only  been 
to  dances,  but  had  danced  with  darling  pets  of  officers, 
friends  of  Ernest  Borrow;  while  their  mothers  had  been 
asked  to  those  fascinating  picnics  they  get  up  in  Egypt, 
don't  you  know,  where  you  dig  in  ancient  burial  grounds 
and  find  mummy  beads  and  amulets.  Somehow  or  other, 
all  these  people  attributed  their  pleasures  to  me,  as  they 
had  blamed  me  for  their  mishaps;  and  my  spirits  were  at 
the  top  of  the  thermometer  three  days  later  when,  after 

257 


258  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

some  hard  work,  the  Enchantress  Isis  was  ready  to  start 
"up  Nile." 

Sir  Marcus  wanted  "his  tours  to  be  different  from  every 
other  Nile  tour,  and  a  little  better."  He  wanted  to 
"show  what  he  could  do,"  and  he  was  beginning  well. 
Though  the  Enchantress  Isis  had  had  a  past  under 
other  owners,  she  looked  as  if  this  were  her  maiden  trip, 
and  she  was  as  beautifully  decorated  as  a  debutante  for 
her  first  ball.  Her  paint  was  new  and  gleaming  white;  her 
brass  and  nickel  glittered  like  jewellery;  and  even  those 
who  thought  nothing  quite  good  enough  for  them,  uttered 
admiring  "Ohs!"  as  they  trooped  on  board. 

"The  Highway  of  Egypt"  was  a  silver-paved  road, 
leading  to  adventure.  The  masts  of  native  boats  lying 
along  the  river  bank  were  etched  in  black  lines  crowding 
one  over  another,  on  the  lightly  washed-in  background  of 
blue.  Near  by,  the  great  Kasr-el-Nil  bridge  gleamed  with 
colour  and  life  like  a  rainbow  "come  alive";  and  the 
Enchantress  Isis  looked  as  gay  and  inviting  as  a  houseboat 
en  fete  for  Henley  regatta.  She  was  smaller  than  the  most 
modern  of  the  Nile  boats,  for  she  had  been  sold  cheap  to 
Sir  Marcus  by  another  firm:  but  she  was  big  enough  for 
his  experiment,  though  he  had  turned  some  of  her  cabins 
into  private  baths  and  sitting-rooms.  Her  three  decks 
towered  out  of  the  water  with  a  superior  air  of  stateliness, 
such  as  small  women  put  on  beside  tall  sisters;  and  her 
upper  deck  was  a  big  open-air  sitting-room.  There  were 
Turkish  rugs  on  the  white  floor,  and  basket  chairs  and 
sofas  with  silk  cushions.  On  the  tables  and  on  the  piano 
top  there  were  picture-books  of  Egypt,  and  magazines, 
and  bowls  of  flowers.  From  the  roof,  sprouted  electric 


THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  AGAIN  259 

lamps  with  brass  leaves  and  glass  lotuses;  and  smiling 
Arabs  in  white  from  turban  to  slippers  had  blue  larks  fly- 
ing wide-winged  on  their  breasts.  Oh,  yes,  Sir  Marcus 
was  "doing"  his  clients  well,  that  was  patent  at  first 
glance,  and  became  even  more  conspicuous  to  the  eyes  of 
the  Set  as  they  wandered  into  the  dining  saloon,  drawing- 
room  and  library,  or  peeped  into  each  other's  cabins.  Sir 
Marcus  himself  had  come  on  board  ostensibly  to  see  us  off, 
really  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  boat  upon  Cleopatra.  He 
lay  in  wait  for  her  outside  the  door  of  her  suite  (the  best 
on  board),  pretending  to  engage  me  in  conversation,  but 
forgot  my  existence  as  she  appeared.  The  ecstasy  on  his 
big  face  was  pathetic,  as  his  brown  eyes  fixed  themselves 
on  a  quantity  of  artificial  blue  lotuses  she  held  in  her 
hands. 

"Do  you  like  'em,  Mrs.  East?"  he  ventured. 

"Do  I  like  what?"  she  inquired,  that  quiver  of  impa- 
tience in  her  tone  which  she  kept  for  her  unfortunate 
adorer. 

"The  —  those  flowers, "  he  stammered.     I " 

"They're  awful!"  she  exclaimed.  "The  rooms  are 
lovely,  but  these  dreadful  artificial  things  some  silly  person 
has  stuck  all  over  the  place  spoil  the  whole  effect.  I  want 
to  find  an  Arab  to  take  them  away.  Or  do  you  think  I 
might  throw  them  overboard?  No  one  could  like  them, 
I'm  sure. " 

"Of  course,  chuck  'em  overboard  —  or  hand  'em  to  me, 
and  I'll  do  it,"  said  Sir  Marcus,  looking  ready  to  cry. 
"But  —  they're  lotuses,  I  suppose  you  know?  I  heard  you 
say  you'd  give  anything  to  have  some. " 

"Not  artificial  ones,"  explained  Cleopatra,  belle  dame 


260  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

sans  merci.  "  I  can't  stand  artificial  flowers  even  on  hats, 
much  less  in  rooms.  Who  could  have  put  such  horrors 
all  over  my  salon?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Sir  Marcus  lied  stoutly;  "but  it  shan't 
happen  again.  There  ain't  any  real  lotuses  to  be  got,  so 
maybe  the  —  er  —  the  decorator  — "  his  meanderings  died 
into  silence,  as  he  took  the  bunch  of  flowers  from  Mrs. 
East,  and  viciously  flung  them  as  tribute  to  the  Nile. 

"After  all,  we  oughtn't  to  do  that,"  said  Cleopatra. 
"In  the  beautiful  old  days  real  lotuses  were  given  to  the 
Nile.  These  are  an  insult. " 

"They  aren't  meant  as  such,"  the  big  man  apologized, 
all  joy  in  his  fine  boat  and  the  compliments  he  had  received 
crushed  out  of  him.  I  knew  now  that  he  had  hovered  at 
Cleopatra's  door  hoping  for  a  cry  of  pleasure.  Probably 
he  had  ransacked  Cairo  for  the  lotuses,  or  telegraphed  to 
Paris,  before  his  cruel  lady  went  from  him  into  the  desert. 
I  was  sorry  for  the  "boss,"  though  a  snub  or  two  would 
be  good  for  him,  no  doubt,  and  perhaps  were  being  speci- 
ally provided  by  a  wise  Providence.  But  I  had  other 
things  to  think  of  than  Sir  Marcus  Lark's  love-troubles: 
Monny,  for  instance,  who  at  last  had  found  a  letter  from 
"Madame  Wretched"  in  Cairo,  and  had  wonderful  schemes 
in  her  head.  On  board  the  Laconia  I  should  have  thought 
such  schemes  obstinate  and  headstrong,  the  wish  of  a 
spoiled  child  to  do  something  dangerous,  to  meddle  in 
matters  which  did  not  concern  her,  and  to  have  "an 
adventure."  But  I  understood  the  Gilded  Rose  a  little 
better  now.  I  began  to  see  the  real  Monny  as  Biddy  saw 
her,  bright  with  the  flame  of  courage  and  enthusiasm  and 
passionate  generosity,  behind  the  passing  cloud  of  super- 


THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  AGAIN  261 

ficial  faults.  She  wanted  everybody  to  be  as  fortunate 
and  happy  as  she,  and  was  prepared  to  be  exceedingly 
trying  and  disagreeable  in  the  effort  to  make  them  so. 

We  had  not  been  on  board  ten  minutes  when  Biddy  told 
me  about  the  exciting  letter,  and  escorted  me  to  find  it  and 
Monny.  Miss  Gilder  was  in  the  act  of  insisting  that 
General  and  Mrs.  Harlow  should  accept  her  suite,  and 
that  she  should  take  their  cabin.  The  matter  had  to  be 
argued  out  before  she  could  spare  attention  for  anything 
else;  but  as  she  made  it  clear  that  the  Harlows  were  not  to 
pay  extra,  their  scruples  were  soon  conquered.  "The 
baggage  hasn't  been  put  into  the  cabins  yet,"  she  ex- 
plained breathlessly  to  me,  "so  that's  all  right!" 

In  my  astonishment,  I  forgot  Madame  Wretched. 
"But  why,"  I  adjured  Monny  in  my  professional  tone,  as 
conductor,  "why  on  earth  should  you  sacrifice  yourself 
to  these  people?  What  have  they  done  for  you?  I 
thought  you  didn't  like  them?" 

"I  don't,"  she  replied,  calmly,  while  Biddy  listened, 
smiling.  "That's  why  I  gave  them  my  suite  —  at  least, 
it's  partly  why." 

"I  should  think  the  other  part  of  the  'partly'  is  more 
convincing,"  I  remarked;  and  Monny  blushed. 

"Perhaps  you  know  that  your  friend  Antoun  Effendi 
thinks  me  the  most  selfish  as  well  as  the  most  obstinate  girl 
he  ever  saw,"  she  said.  "And  I  don't  intend  to  have  for- 
eigners like  him  go  on  doing  American  girls  an  injustice. 
Besides,  maybe  he's  right  about  me  —  and  I  want  him  to  be 
wrong.  I  hate  having  all  the  best  things  there  are  every- 
where, just  because  I'm  rich.  The  Harlows  wanted  a  suite, 
and  they  couldn't  afford  to  take  one.  They  were  looking 


262  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

sadly  through  the  door  at  my  rooms  and  envying  me,  so 
I  thought  I  would  change.  I  was  determined  to  change, 
whether  they  would  let  me  or  not.  They  are  old;  I'm 
young,  and  /  shall  enjoy  thinking  I've  done  something 
nice  for  people  I  thoroughly  dislike,  as  much  as  they  will 
enjoy  having  their  own  bathroom." 

"If  Mrs.  Harlow  could  hear  you  calling  her  old!"  gur- 
gled Biddy. 

"Well,  she  is  old.  And  she's  perfectly  horrid,  much 
more  horrid  even  than  Miss  Hassett-Bean;  so  I'd  rather 
give  my  suite  to  her  and  her  husband  than  any  one  else. 
Biddy  and  Rachel  are  together,  and  Aunt  Clara  is  alone. 
I'm  robbing  no  one  but  myself." 

"How  do  you -know  Antoun  Effendi  thinks  you  selfish 
and  obstinate?"  I  inquired.  "Surely  he  wasn't  rude 
enough  to  say  so?" 

"He  was  indeed,  the  day  I  would  have  the  coastguard 
camel,  and  he  came  after  me  when  it  ran  away,"  she  con- 
fessed. "And  you're  not  to  tell  him  about  the  suite.  I 
didn't  give  it  up  to  please  him." 

"I  thought  you  did,"  I  ventured,  "in  order  that  Egyp- 
tian princes  shouldn't  do  injustice  to  American  girls?" 

"I  meant,"  she  explained  hastily,  "that  I  like  to  know 
they're  wrong  about  us.  And  now  what  was  it  that  Biddy 
and  you  wanted  to  say?  Oh,  poor  Mabel's  letter!  Hovr 
thankful  I  am  to  get  it!  I've  been  wondering  if  I  dared 
write,  and  thinking  of  all  sorts  of  desperate  plans.  But 
Biddy  thought  we  must  wait  till  Wretched  was  off  his 
guard.  You  see,  we  shall  have  to  rescue  her  when  we  get 
to  Asiut." 

I  would  have  answered,  but  a  look  from  Biddy  enjoined 


THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  AGAIN  263 

silence.     And  so  we  were  in  touch  with  the  "Ship's  Mys- 
tery" again!  I  took  the  envelope,  which  was  addressed 
to  Miss  Gilder  in  a  distinctively  American  handwriting, 
strange  to  see  coming  from  an  Egyptian  harem. 
The  letter  began  abruptly,  and  showed  signs  of  haste: 

"  You  were  so  good,  I  know  I  can  appeal  to  you,  but  I'm 
not  sure  if  there's  any  way  to  help  me.  I  began  to  be 
frightened  on  the  ship,  when  he  behaved  so  queerly,  just 
because  I  talked  about  the  most  ordinary  things  to  one  or 
two  men.  He  made  me  stay  in  my  cabin  —  but  you'll 
remember  that.  Already  it's  like  ages  ago!  I  tell  myself 
now  that  I  was  almost  happy  then.  At  least,  I  believed  I 
was  his  wife,  and  that  it  was  better  than  being  poor,  and  a 
governess  to  hateful  French  children  in  Paris.  He  was 
kind,  too  —  he  seemed  to  love  me;  and  I  thought  it  was 
like  living  in  a  romance  to  marry  a  Turk.  He  swore  he'd 
never  loved  any  one  except  me,  that  he'd  never  been  mar- 
ried, and  that  he  wouldn't  try  to  convert  me  or  shut  me 
up  like  Turkish  women.  But  everything  was  untrue  and 
different  from  what  he  said.  I  hardly  know  how  to  tell 
you,  for  you  will  think  it  horrible,  yet  I  must  tell.  When  I 
came  here,  I  found  he  had  a  wife  already,  and  a  perfectly 
fiendish  little  girl.  It  is  legal  in  this  dreadful  country  to 
have  four  wives,  but  I  don't  care  about  the  law.  I  want 
to  get  away.  I've  been  cheated.  This  isn't  marriage! 
I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  me,  for  I  haven't  any 
money,  but  I'd  rather  starve  than  stay.  I  heard  Mr. 
Sheridan  say  on  board  ship  that  it  was  easy  to  get  a 
divorce  in  Egypt  or  Turkey.  Maybe  he  meant  me  to 
hear,  thinking  some  day  I  might  be  glad  to  know.  But  I 
can't  get  a  divorce  while  I'm  shut  up  in  this  house  and 
watched.  Now,  he  suspects  I  want  to  leave  him  (since 
a  scene  we  had  about  the  wife),  and  he  won't  let  me  go  out, 
even  into  the  garden.  You  are  my  only  hope.  You'll 
wonder  why  I  don't  try  appealing  to  the  American  Consul 


264  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

here,  instead  of  to  you.  I  suppose  there  must  be  a  consul 
—  Asiut  seems  a  big,  important  town.  I'll  tell  you  why  I 
don't.  For  one  thing,  there  mayn't  be  a  consul.  For 
another  thing,  the  woman  who  has  promised  to  post  this 
wouldn't  do  so  if  she  guessed  I  was  writing  against  my 
husband,  who  is  her  brother-in-law,  and  she  would  guess 
if  she  saw  an  envelope  addressed  to  a  consul,  although  she 
knows  scarcely  any  English.  I  have  to  talk  to  her  in 
French.  He  thinks  she  is  devoted  to  him,  and  that  she's 
explaining  the  Mussulman  religion  and  ideas  of  a  woman's 
life  to  me,  or  he  wouldn't  let  her  come.  It's  true,  she  is 
loyal  to  him,  in  a  way.  She  wouldn't  help  me  to  escape. 
But  I  think  women  in  the  harems  like  to  have  secrets  with 
each  other,  which  they  hide  from  their  men.  I've  told 
her  about  you,  how  pretty  you  are,  and  a  great  lieu-ess  and 
she's  so  interested,  she's  dying  to  see  you.  She  hopes,  if 
she  posts  this  letter,  that  you  will  call  on  me  on  your  way 
up  the  Nile.  She  can  perhaps  find  out  what  day  your 
boat  is  to  arrive,  through  her  husband,  and  then  she'll  try 
to  come  to  our  house  on  the  chance  of  meeting  you.  I'm 
almost  sure  she'll  keep  her  promise  and  post  this  letter. 
If  not  —  if  he  sees  it,  maybe  he  will  kill  me.  I  believe  now 
he  would  do  anything.  But  I  must  run  the  risk.  Do  come. 
Do  think  of  some  way  to  help 

MABEL. 

I  don't  feel  I  have  the  right  to  any  other  name,  for  surely 
as  he  has  a  wife  I'm  not  truly  married. 

"Well?"  asked  Monny,  as  she  saw  me  finish  and  fold 
up  the  letter.  "You  were  horrid  about  her  at  first,  but 
just  at  the  last  minute  on  the  ship,  you  were  good,  and 
kept  Wretched  Bey  talking,  so  I  might  have  my  chance 
with  Mabel.  If  you  hadn't,  I  shouldn't  like  you  as  much 
as  I  do.  And  I'm  sure  even  you'll  be  anxious  to  do  some- 
thing now." 


THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  AGAIN  265 

"Yet  we  don't  wish  Ernest  or  Antoun  Effendi  to  run 
into  danger,  do  we,  dear?"  Biddy  suggested,  coaxingly. 
"  When  you  wanted  to  show  the  letter,  I  said  yes,  but " 

Monny  listened  no  longer.  Her  eyes  were  sparkling,  as 
they  looked  straight  into  mine.  "Antoun  Effendi!"  she 
repeated.  "Tell  me  first  —  because,  you  know,  you  are 
his  friend  —  what  would  he  think  about  a  case  like  this? 
Whatever  he  is,  he's  not  a  Mussulman,  I'm  sure.  Still, 
he's  not  one  of  us " 

"You're  sure  he's  not  a  Mussulman?"  I  echoed. 
"What  makes  you  sure,  when  you  know  he's  been  to 
Mecca,  unless  somebody  has  put  the  idea  into  your  head?  " 
His  own  head  put  it  there,"  she  answered.  "I  saw  it 
without  his  turban,  the  night  of  the  alarm  in  camp.  It 
wasn't  shaved,  as  I've  read  the  heads  of  Moslem  men  are. 
It  was  a  head  like  —  like  the  head  of  every  Christian  man 
I  know,  except  that  it  was  a  better  shape  than  most!  So, 
as  he  isn't  Mussulman,  he  might  not  mind  our  trying  to 
help  this  poor  deceived  girl?" 

"  Shall  I  ask  his  advice?  "I  inquired,  rather  drily  perhaps. 

She  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  said  "Yes!" 

"You  seem  certain  that  whatever  he  thinks,  he  won't 
betray  your  plan." 

"I  am  certain,"  she  replied,  looking  rapt.  "He's  not 
the  kind  of  man  who  betrays." 

"You're  right,"  I  said.  "He's  not  the  kind  of  man  who 
betrays.  He's  the  kind  that  helps.  Though  in  such  a 
case  as  this  —  you  know,  the  very  meaning  of  the  word 
'  harem '  is  '  sacred '  or  '  forbidden. '  Still  —  we  shall  see ! " 

We  could  not  " see "  at  once,  however,  because  Anthony 
had  not  come  on  board.  Even  when  the  hour  for  start- 


266  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

ing  arrived,  there  was  no  Anthony,  no  message  from 
Anthony.  "Your  friend  isn't  going  to  leave  us  in  the 
lurch,  is  he?"  asked  Sir  Marcus,  watch  in  hand.  He  had 
meant  to  travel  with  us  as  far  as  Beni  Hasan,  our  first 
stop,  and  return  to  Cairo  by  donkey  and  train,  but  had 
changed  his  intention  and  was  going  off  at  once  —  I 
thought  I  could  guess  why.  "The  Enchantress  I  sis  ought 
to  be  under  way  this  minute,  but  Antoun  and  you  are  our 
chief  attractions.  We  can't  leave  him  behind." 

I  agreed.  We  could  not  leave  Anthony  behind,  but  I 
was  not  worrying.  If  he  had  to  drop  down  out  of  an 
aeroplane,  I  felt  sure  that  having  said  he  would  come,  he 
would  keep  his  word.  So,  while  Sir  Marcus  stared  at  his 
watch  and  fumed,  I  rushed  usefully  about  among  the  la- 
dies who  clamoured  for  their  luggage,  or  complained  that 
their  cabins  were  too  small  for  innovation  trunks.  I 
showed  them  how  these  travelling  wardrobes  could  be 
opened  wide  and  flattened  against  the  walls,  taking  up 
next  to  no  room;  I  assured  each  woman  in  confidence  that 
she  had  been  given  the  best  cabin  on  the  boat;  I  dealt  out 
little  illustrated  books  about  the  trip;  I  advised  people 
which  tables  to  choose  in  the  dining-saloon,  and  consoled 
them  when  the  places  they  wanted  were  gone.  Still, 
the  Enchantress  Isis  had  not  stirred,  and  a  rumour  was 
beginning  to  go  round  that  something  had  happened, 
when  suddenly  I  saw  Antoun  Effendi's  green  turban. 

"Thank  goodness!"  muttered  Sir  Marcus,  putting  his 
watch  into  his  pocket.  And  then  Mrs.  East  came  swiftly 
across  the  deck  from  the  door  of  her  own  suite,  where  she 
must  have  stood  watching,  hidden  behind  the  portiere. 
"Oh,  Antoun  Effendi!"  she  cried,  and  though  her  face 


THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  AGAIft  267 

was  turned  toward  us,  she  did  not  seem  to  know  that  we 
existed.  How  Anthony  looked  at  her  we  could  not  judge, 
for  we  saw  only  his  back;  but  her  eyes  must  have  told  Sir 
Marcus  a  piece  of  news.  He  glanced  from  her  to  Fentony 
and  from  Fenton  to  her,  with  the  expression  of  a  school- 
boy who  has  been  punished  for  something  he  hasn't  done. 
Then  he  turned  to  me  as  though  to  ask  a  question;  but 
shut  his  mouth  tightly,  as  if  gulping  down  a  large  pill, 
wheeled,  and  left  me  without  a  good-bye.  I  wondered, 
Cleopatra-fashion,  what  he  had  done  in  his  last  incarna- 
tion to  deserve  these  heavy  blows  in  the  hour  which  should 
have  seen  his  triumph.  "What  if  he  changes  his  mind 
and  doesn't  want  Fenton  and  me  after  all?"  I  asked  my- 
self. To  my  surprise,  I  realized  that  it  would  be  a  genu- 
ine disappointment  not  to  be  wanted  by  Sir  Marcus  Lark. 
The  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid  had  nothing  to 
do  with  this.  It  was  borne  in  upon  me  that  I  had  begun 
to  enjoy  the  role  of  conductor;  and  certainly  I  was  learn- 
ing lessons  in  high  diplomacy  which  might  be  useful  in 
my  career. 

Anthony,  who  was  free  as  an  eagle  from  questions  of 
innovation  trunks  and  how  to  give  everybody  the  best 
cabins,  and  places  at  table,  looked  as  if  he  were  bound  for 
the  Island  of  Hesperides,  on  a  voyage  of  pure  romance. 
The  air  of  gravity  and  responsibility  he  had  worn  in  Cairo 
and  in  the  desert  was  gone  with  the  starting  of  the  boat. 
I  knew  suddenly,  without  asking  him,  that  his  mission  had 
been  of  a  far  more  serious  nature  than  the  transplanting  of 
a  sheikh's  tomb;  that  there  had  been  something  else,  and 
that  it  had  finished  at  the  last  moment  in  success. 

"Sir  Marcus  was  worrying  about  you,"  I  said,  when  the 


268  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

importance  of  unpacking  left  the  deck  empty  save  for 
Anthony  and  me. 

"You  weren't,  were  you?"  He  was  smiling  at  me  in  a 
friendly,  confidential  way  that  showed  a  happy  mood. 

"Not  I!  I  knew  you'd  turn  up,  as  you'd  said  you 
would." 

"Thanks,  my  good  Duffer.  But  now  it's  over,  I 
don't  mind  telling  you  that  it  was  a  toss  up." 

"You  mean  there  was  a  chance  of  your  failing  us  —  in 
spite  of  the  Mountain?  " 

"Well,  I  meant  to  bring  this  off  somehow.  But  my 
first  duty  was  to  finish  up  the  Cairo  business.  I  simply 
had  to  finish  it,  and  I  did.  It  was  a  —  rather  bigger  job 
than  the  sheikh's  tomb  racket,  though  of  course  that  was 
on  the  cards,  too.  Everything's  all  right  now;  but  I  spent 
last  night  in  getting  the  full  details  of  an  Arab  plot  to  blow 
up  the  house  of  a  rich  Copt,  who's  been  of  great  service  to 
the  Government.  Some  of  the  young  Nationalists  think 
that  the  Christian  Copts  are  put  ahead  of  Moslems  by  the 
British,  and  there  are  jealousies.  The  whole  set  of  men 
concerned  in  this  affair  were  arrested  an  hour  ago,  so  all's 
well  with  the  world!  I'm  free  to  turn  my  face  toward  the 
Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid  —  free  to  enjoy  myself, 
although  I  must  stick  to  my  turban  still." 

"Are  you  getting  tired  of  it?"  I  asked. 

"I've  been  tired  of  it  since  the  first  day  I  put  it  on.  I 
don't  like  play-acting  for  long.  But  it  was  necessary.  And 
it  has  had  its  advantages  as  well  as  disadvantages  for  me." 

I  should  have  liked  to  ask  another  question  then,  but 
dared  not,  so  instead  I  told  him  about  the  letter  from 
Rechid  Bey's  beautiful  American  bride,  Mabella  H&nem, 


THE  SHIP'S  MYSTERY  AGAIN  269 

the  "Ship's  Mystery"  of  the  Laconia.  Anthony  listened, 
as  the  Enchantress  Isis  slipped  past  the  Island  of  Roda, 
past  Ghizeh,  past  old  Cairo  and  still  older  Babylon,  then 
out  on  to  the  broad  bosom  of  the  river  where  the  Nile 
Valley  lay  bathed  in  sunshine  from  Gebel  Mokattam  in 
the  east,  to  the  Libyan  hills  —  haunt  of  departed  spirits 
—  in  the  west. 

"Miss  Gilder  wants  me  to  help,  does  she?"  he  asked  at 
last.  "She  told  you  to  tell  me  about  this?" 

"I  warned  her  that  you  mightn't  approve,"  I  explained. 
"I  said  you  had  more  knowledge  of  Egypt  hi  your  little 
finger  than  I  had  in  all  my  gray  matter,  and  you  might 
think  that  nothing  could  be  done " 

"Tell  her  I  think  something  may  be  done,"  he  inter- 
rupted me.  "And  before  we  reach  Asiut  we'll  plan  out 
how  best  to  do  it." 

"You  and  I?" 

"  You  and  she  and  I.     She  has  brains  as  well  as  courage." 

"She?" 

"Of  course  I  mean  Miss  Gilder." 

"Oh!  Is  it  'of  course'?  There  are  others  who  answer 
that  description." 

Fenton  smiled.     "But  it's  going  to  be  her  show." 

"She  is  under  the  impression,"  I  reminded  him,  laugh- 
ing, "  that  all  Egypt,  including  the  Nile,  and  you  and  your 
green  turban,  are  her  'show'." 

Anthony  did  not  answer.  Perhaps  already  he  was 
thinking  of  something  else.  I  should  have  liked  to  be 
sure  exactly  what  his  smile  meant.  Was  it  for  Monny? 
Was  it  for  Biddy?  Or  only  for  an  adventure  which  he 
saw  in  the  distance? 


xvm. 

THE  ASIUT  AFFAIR 

NOTHING  could  be  less  appropriate  to  the  Spirit  of  the 
Nile  than  our  spirit  in  setting  out.  We  had  turned  our 
backs  upon  medieval  Cairo,  and  our  faces  toward  Ethio- 
pia. Our  minds  should  have  teemed  with  thoughts  of 
early  gods,  and  the  mysteries  of  their  great  temples.  But 
not  at  all.  Medieval  or  prehistoric,  it  was  all  one  to  us 
in  our  secret  hearts,  which  throbbed  with  passionate 
excitement  over  our  own  small  affairs  of  to-day,  and  to- 
morrow. Little  cared  we,  as  our  white  boat  bore  us 
southward,  on  the  bosom  of  the  sacred  river  —  little  cared 
we  for  the  love-story  of  the  Great  Enchantress  —  pupil 
of  Magician  Thoth,  —  fair  Isis,  in  whose  honour  that  boat 
was  named.  Her  tragic  journey  along  this  river,  whose 
stream  she  could  augment  by  one  sacred  tear,  should 
have  been  followed  by  our  fancy.  We  should  have 
seen  with  our  minds'  eyes  the  lovely  lady  asking  news  of 
the  painted  boat  which  carried  the  dead  body  of  her  mur- 
dered husband  Osiris,  asking  always  vainly,  until  she 
thought  of  questioning  the  little  children.  But  instead 
we  thought  of  our  own  love-stories  and  amusements.  We 
played  bridge,  and  danced  the  Tango  on  deck;  we  drum- 
med on  the  piano,  or  warbled  the  latest  musical  comedy 
airs.  Above  all,  we  flirted,  or  gossiped  about  those  who 

270 


*  THE  ASIUT  AFFAIR  271 

flirted,  if  for  any  reason  we  were  off  the  active  list  of 
flirters  ourselves. 

To  be  sure,  we  had  brought  learned  books,  and  took 
pains  to  leave  them  in  our  chairs,  open  at  marked  passages 
of  deep  interest  to  students.  We  even  scribbled  hetero- 
geneous notes,  if  for  a  moment  there  were  nothing  more 
amusing  to  do;  and  bits  of  paper  scampered  wildly  about 
the  deck  informing  those  who  retrieved  them  that  "Nub" 
was  ancient  Egyptian  for  "gold,"  that  Osiris  created  men 
and  women  from  the  tears  he  wept  over  his  own  body,  cut 
in  pieces  by  Set;  that  the  ivy  was  his  favourite  plant;  or 
that  "scarabeus"  was  the  Greek  word  for  a  blue-green 
beetle,  which  created  itself  from  itself,  becoming  the  sym- 
bol of  eternal  Me.  All  this,  however,  was  affectation.  Each 
hoped  others  might  think  that  he  or  she  was  not  an  ordinary 
tourist:  each  wished  to  pose  as  a  devotee  of  some  phase  of 
history  concerning  gods,  temples,  or  portrait  statues,  any- 
thing not  difficult  to  "study  up."  But  life  was  too  strong 
for  us.  The  colour  and  glamour  of  the  Nile  got  into  our 
blood.  Hathor,  goddess  of  Love,  bewitched  us  into 
doing  queer  things  which  we  should  not  have  dreamed 
of  doing  if  we  hadn't  drunk  "Nile  champagne."  Yet 
after  all,  what  did  it  matter?  We  were  absorbing  what  our 
hearts,  if  not  our  minds,  called  out  for:  the  enchantment 
of  Egypt. 

More  or  less  conscientiously  I  performed  the  duties  Sir 
Marcus  Lark  had  bribed  me  to  perform.  I  gave  neat 
little  lectures,  and  tried  to  remind  people,  whether  they 
liked  it  or  not,  that  almost  every  moment  the  boat  was 
taking  us  past  places  of  astonishing  interest. 

The  so-called  tombs  of  "Beni  Hasan,"  the  Enchantress 


272  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Isis  stopped  for  us  to  see,  in  order  that  we  might  admire 
wall-paintings  in  rock  chambers,  and  gabble  about  Queen 
Hatasu  or  King  Seti  and  his  mother  Pakhet,  the  "Beauti- 
ful Lady  of  the  Speos."  But  it  was  difficult  to  rouse 
emotion  concerning  things  which  we  glided  by  without 
visiting. 

Ruined  temples  were  everywhere,  "thick  as  flies,"  as  I 
heard  Harry  Snell  say  to  Enid  Biddell;  but  why  bother 
about  them,  when  finer  ones  were  waiting  further  down  on 
the  menu-card  of  the  Nile-feast?  Especially  when  there 
was  a  pretty  girl  to  walk  the  deck  with,  meanwhile?  As 
for  Tell  el-Marna,  the  Heretic  King's  great  city,  the 
general  vote  went  against  a  visit  to  the  ruins.  Antoun 
Effendi  praised  it  as  one  of  the  most  interesting  places 
near  the  Nile,  because  with  the  exception  of  Queen 
Hatasu  and  Rameses  the  Great,  Amen-hetep  IV  was  the 
most  human  personality  in  Egyptian  history.  But  only 
Monny,  who  was  making  a  hero  of  Aknator,  really  wished 
to  delay  at  the  Disc  Worshipper's  Utopia.  It  must  have 
seemed  strange  to  the  Gilded  Rose  not  to  have  her  will 
prevail;  but  there  was  a  "clique"  on  board  who  appeared 
to  find  pleasure  in  thwarting  Monny.  Her  sacrifice  to 
the  Harlows  was  misunderstood.  She  had  made  it,  said 
those  who  did  not  like  her,  in  order  to  gain  credit  for  un- 
selfishness, or  to  have  an  excuse  for  displaying  herself  en 
route  to  the  public  bath,  in  a  dream  of  a  dressing-gown, 
and  a  vision  of  a  cap,  carrying  a  poem  of  a  sponge  bag. 
Rachel  Guest  was  still  mysteriously  more  popular  than 
Monny,  and  was  said  to  have  had  two  proposals  on  the 
first  day.  She  didn't  want  to  get  off  the  boat  to  see  ir- 
relevant painted  pavements,  in  the  harem  of  Aknaton's 


THE  ASIUT  AFFAIR  273 

royal  palace,  and  her  laziness  won,  when  the  vote  was 
taken.  But  what  did  anything  matter,  if  the  glamour  of 
the  Nile  was  in  our  blood? 

Not  one  of  us  but  thrilled  to  the  droning  cry  of  the 
shadoof  men  on  the  brown  banks,  as  the  dripping  water 
jars  went  up  and  up,  tier  after  tier  above  the  river  level. 
Not  one  but  felt  a  strange  allurement  in  the  passing 
scene;  the  dark  mystery  of  palm  groves,  whose  slender 
stems  were  prison  bars  against  the  shining  sky;  the  copper 
glow  of  the  mud-bricks  in  piled-up  villages;  the  colour  of 
the  flowing  water,  where  secret  gleams  as  from  flooded  gold 
mines  seemed  to  glint  through  masses  of  dead  violets,  that 
floated  with  the  tide.  No  eye  so  dull  that  it  could  not 
see  how  the  shadows  on  land  and  water  were  painted  at 
evening  with  a  blue  glaze,  like  the  bloom  on  old  scarabs 
and  mummy  beads,  and  broken  bits  of  pottery  that  art 
cannot  copy  now. 

In  her  way,  even  Miss  Hassett-Bean  felt  the  charm  of 
the  Nile,  and  its  shores  of  brown  and  emerald  and  peacock- 
purple.  "I  don't  call  it  scenery"  she  explained. 
"  Except  when  the  light  is  different,  or  there's  some  green 
stuff  for  cattle  growing  on  the  banks,  everything's  the 
same  yellow-brown;  and  nothing  happens  but  palms  and 
mud  villages,  and  shadoofs,  and  a  few  Arabs,  or  camels, 
or  those  ugly  water  buffaloes  they  say  the  devil  made, 
to  show  what  he  could  do.  But  the  funny  thing  is,  you 
can't  bear  to  shut  your  eyes  for  a  single  minute  for  fear  of 
missing  a  tree,  or  a  mound,  or  one  of  those  tall-masted 
gyassas  loaded  with  white  and  pink  pottery:  they  all  seem 
so  ridiculously  important,  somehow!  Then,  there's  that 
bothersome  north  wind  following  you,  and  trying  to 


274  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

freeze  your  spine,  unless  you  pounce  on  the  best  seat 
where  it  can't  reach.  If  you  put  on  your  fur  coat  you're 
too  hot;  if  you  don't  you're  too  cold.  At  night  your  bed 
creaks,  and  so  does  everybody  else's.  You  hear  a  creak- 
ing all  down  the  line  when  people  turn  over,  which  gets 
on  your  nerves :  but  you  soon  forget ;  and  the  whole  expe- 
rience is  so  perfectly  wonderful  that  I'd  like  to  spend 
the  rest  of  nay  natural  life  going  up  and  down  on  a  Nile 
boat!" 

Through  the  opalescent  dream  of  these  first  days  and 
nights,  shot  the  fiery  thought  of  our  mission  in  Asiut.  I 
had  been  surprised  at  first  that  Anthony,  who  knew  so 
well  the  dangers  and  mysteries  of  the  East,  encouraged 
Miss  Gilder  to  meddle  in  so  delicate  an  affair;  and  there 
had  never  been  any  explanations  between  us.  But  I  told 
myself  that  his  motive  was  sympathy  with  Monny's 
desire  to  help:  or  else  he  had  been  tempted  to  associate 
himself  with  her  in  an  adventure  where  again,  as  once  or 
twice  before,  he  had  been  able  to  win  her  gratitude.  Per- 
haps both  motives  combined. 

As  for  Mrs.  East,  she  frankly  sulked.  Intuition  told 
me  that  she  had  never  dared  speak  to  "Antoun  Effendi" 
about  the  proposal  in  hieroglyphics  (so  difficult  for  me  to 
explain)  which  she  attributed  to  him.  Never  had  she 
dared  say:  "You  have  written  me  a  love  letter.  Why 
don't  you  follow  it  up,  and  give  me  a  chance  to  answer  it, 
one  way  or  the  other?"  But  it  was  puzzling  her,  dis- 
appointing her,  if  not  breaking  her  heart,  that  he  avoided 
rather  than  sought  her,  on  this  glorified  houseboat  where 
"the  Egyptian  Prince"  was  more  or  less  a  hero  with 
romantic  women.  While  we  four  planned,  in  thrilling 


THE  ASIUT  AFFAIR  275 

whispers,  how  to  rescue  the  "Ship's  Mystery,"  and  Rachel 
Guest  walked  the  deck  with  Bill  Bailey  or  Harry  Snell, 
Cleopatra  was  reduced  to  writing  picture  post-cards. 
I  thought,  if  Sir  Marcus  had  but  the  inspiration  to  reap- 
pear at  some  stopping  place  farther  on,  she  might  be  ready 
to  forgive  him  the  false  lotus  flowers:  and  perhaps  he 
would  come,  for  the  Lark  type  is  as  difficult  to  snub  as 
Cleopatra's  Needle.  I  was  half  inclined  to  send  him  a 
telegram,  on  some  excuse  or  other. 


We  came  to  Asiut  in  the  morning,  and  it  was  to  be  a 
long  stop,  for  there  was  much  to  see,  and  every  one  was 
excited  at  the  thought  of  our  first  Nile  town,  a  town 
already  of  Upper  Egypt,  which  made  it  seem  that  we  had 
come  a  tremendous  way  from  Cairo.  For  us,  Egypt  existed 
no  longer  as  a  country,  but  as  a  golden  brown,  purple- 
green  river-bed  and  a  flowing  stream  of  history  on  which 
we  floated; so  it  was  fun  for  those  having  no  special  mission, 
to  feel  that  once  again  bazaars  and  more  or  less  sophisti- 
cated "Sights"  awaited  their  pleasure.  I  had  given  my 
after-dinner  lecture  the  night  before,  trying  to  behave  as 
if  I  were  not  boiling  with  emotion,  and  had  told  those  who 
deigned  to  listen  that  Asiut,  "City  of  the  Wolves,"  was 
the  capital  of  a  province.  I  had  babbled,  too,  about  the 
tombs  which  self-respecting  tourists  must  see,  even  if  they 
hurry  over  the  inspection  of  carvings,  cartouches,  and 
representations  of  very  small  queens  smelling  very  large 
lotuses  (most  Egyptian  queens  apparently  spent  much  of 
their  time,  lightly  clothed,  and  smelling  lotuses,  a  ladylike 
pursuit  for  those  about  to  have  their  portraits  taken) ; 


276  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

in  order  to  find  time  for  the  mummied  cats,  the  bazaars, 
the  silverscarf s,  the  red  and  black  pottery,  and  the  images 
of  wolves,  crocodiles,  and  camels  cheap  enough  to  be  freely 
bought  for  poor  relations  at  home.  "  Antoun"  and  I  hinted 
at  business  which  must  prevent  our  joining  the  sight- 
seers, who  would  be  chaperoned  by  the  dragoman.  Luckily, 
they  got  the  idea  into  their  heads  that  our  affairs  were 
connected  with  Sir  Marcus,  and  the  "trip."  We  were 
pitied,  rather  than  blamed,  but  our  real  difficulty  was  with 
Mrs.  East,  as  Monny  did  not  wish  Cleopatra  to  be  let 
into  the  secret.  If  she  knew,  she  would  want  to  be  in  the 
adventure,  and  in  Monny 's  opinion,  Aunt  Clara  was  a 
dear,  but  unfitted  for  adventures. 

We  planned  that  Brigit  and  Monny  should  call  upon 
the  wife  of  Rechid  Bey,  whose  house  would  be  easy  to 
find.  If  they  were  admitted,  they  would  try  to  bring  her 
out,  as  if  for  a  drive,  for  it  seemed  a  case  of  now  or  never  if 
she  were  to  escape.  In  case  she  were  able  to  come,  they 
would  take  her  straight  to  the  American  Consulate,  which 
I  was  to  visit  meanwhile,  in  order  to  explain  matters. 
But  if  the  rescuers  were  refused  admission,  the  Consul 
must  be  entreated  to  give  active  help.  I,  as  a  "  diplomat," 
was  considered  a  suitable  person  to  deal  with  this  side  of 
the  affair;  and  Antoun  Effendi  was  to  keep  unobtrusive 
guard  within  sight  of  Rechid's  house  until  Brigit  and 
Monny,  with  or  without  a  companion,  should  come  forth 
safely.  As  I  said,  however,  the  difficulty  was  Mrs.  East. 
She  would  expect  her  niece  if  not  Brigit  to  go  about  with 
her,  and  would  not  be  easily  persuaded  to  join  any  other 
party.  As  for  Rachel,  we  need  not  think  of  her,  as  she 
had  been  annexed  by  the  Biddells,  who  would  otherwise 


THE  ASIUT  AFFAIR  277 

have  lost  Harry  Snell.  But  Cleopatra!  What  to  do  with 
Cleopatra?  It  was  Anthony  who  had  an  inspiration. 

There  lived  near  Asiut,  it  seemed,  an  Italian  who  bred 
Sicilian  lap-dogs,  said  to  be  like  those  which  had  been 
favourite  pets  in  the  day  of  Cleopatra  the  Great.  Indeed, 
Antony  was  supposed  to  have  given  one  to  the  Queen. 
Now,  Fenton  asked  permission  to  present  a  Sicilian  lap- 
dog  to  Mrs.  East,  a  dog  so  small,  so  polite,  that  he  could 
be  taken  anywhere.  Anthony  could  not  go  himself  to 
select  the  gift,  but  would  find  an  interpreter  as  a  guide  to 
the  kennel  and  bring  her  back  to  the  exploring  party. 
Cleopatra,  delighted  with  her  hero's  thoughtfulness, 
caught  at  the  idea:  and  when  the  Set  went  tearing  furi- 
ously away  in  arabeahs  or  on  donkeys,  Mrs.  East  followed 
sedately  in  a  carriage  with  the  elderly  Greek  interpreter, 
and  Miss  Hassett-Bean,  who  also  fancied  the  idea  of  a 
Sicilian  lap-dog,  to  replace  the  lamented  Marmoset. 

Everything  glittered  at  Asiut.  The  sun  glittered  on 
the  water;  palm  trees  in  gardens  glittered  as  the  wind 
waved  their  big  green  fans;  the  white  or  pink  fagades  of 
large,  square  houses  glittered,  those  fine  hpuses  along  the 
Nile,  in  one  of  which  Rechid  Bey  was  known  to  live. 
But  brighter  than  all  glittered  the  silver  scarfs  which 
Arabs  begged  us  to  buy.  Hanging  over  arms  raised  to 
show  them  off,  the  shining  folds  glittered  like  cascades  of 
running  water  in  moonlight.  "Very  cheap!  very  beau- 
tiful!" cried  the  merchants.  "Ladies*  see  here!  Your 
gen'lemen,  they  buy  for  you!" 

In  spite  of  "Antoun's"  dignified  refusals,  putting  the 
men  off  till  our  return,  they  ran  after  us,  waving  scarfs 
and  shawls  and  robes,  white  as  scintillating  hoarfrost, 


278  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

pink  as  palest  roses,  purple  as  sunset  clouds,  green  and 
golden  as  Nile  water,  or  sequined  black  as  a  night  of  stars. 
Their  vendors  feared  that  if  we  did  not  buy  of  them, 
others  might  beguile  us,  and  saw  danger  ahead  in  a  dis- 
tant group  of  rivals  crowding  round  some  tourists  from 
another  boat.  This  group  we  had  to  pass,  and  as  we  did 
so,  who  should  break  out  from  the  glittering  ring  but 
Bedr. 

He  came  toward  us,  humble  and  cringing,  giving  the 
beautiful  Arab  salute.  "Dear  gen'lemen  and  ladies!"  he 
exclaimed.  "I  am  very  happy  to  see  you  again.  Won't 
you  shake  hands,  to  forgive,  because  I  meaned  no  harm, 
and  did  no  wrong  thing  but  obey  the  sweet  ladies'  wish 
when  they  would  go  to  that  House  of  the  Crocodile.  I 
too  much  punished  when  I  been  sent  away." 

"That's  past  now,  and  forgotten,"  said  Monny,  shrink- 
ing slightly  from  the  outstretched  hand.  "Perhaps  it 
wasn't  your  fault,  that  trouble  we  got  into,  but  we  didn't 
need  you  afterward,  anyhow,  and  probably  the  people  you 
are  with  now  are  nicer  to  you  than  we  were." 

"Oh,  no  peoples  could  be  nicer,  though  they  are  very 
nice,  my  two  gen'lemens  you  seed  with  me  in  the  desert. 
They  travel  with  me  yet.  We  go  everywhere  by  trains, 
because  it  takes  not  so  much  time  as  the  boats.  And 
Miss  Guest,  that  nice  good  young  lady,  is  she  well?" 

"Yes,  she  is  very  well,"  replied  Miss  Gilder,  beginning 
to  be  restless,  her  beauty-loving  eyes  avoiding  Bedr's  face, 
as  had  been  her  habit  when  the  man  was  in  our  employ. 
She  did  not  like  to  hurt  his  feelings  (Monny  can't  bear  to 
hurt  the  feelings  of  any  one  below  herself  in  wealth  or 
station,  though  apparently  she  doesn't  consider  that  one 


THE  ASIUT  AFFAIR  279 

is  bound  to  be  kind-hearted  with  the  rich) ;  but  I  could  see 
that  she  wanted  to  escape.  Never  had  she  liked  Bedr. 
He  had  been  Rachel's  man  from  the  first.  "Miss  Guest 
has  gone  to  see  the  tombs,"  Monny  explained. 

"You  not  go  there,  and  to  the  bazaars?  I  take  my 
gen'lemen  in  a  few  minutes." 

"We  shall  go  by  and  by;  just  now  we've  other  things  to 
do,"  said  the  girl  evasively,  rather  too  evasively,  perhaps. 
But  in  the  hope  of  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone  (luring 
the  man  to  betray  his  secret  if  he  had  one,  and  then  shunt- 
ing him),  I  broke  in. 

"How  have  you  been  getting  on,"  I  inquired,  looking 
into  the  squint  eyes,  "since  that  night  I  saw  you  at 
Medinet-el-Fayoum?  " 

But  the  eyes  opened  wide,  with  a  stare  of  innocence. 

"You  see  me  there,  milord?  I  thought  your  party  had 
not  come  when  we  went  away.  My  gen'lemen  not  like 
that  camping  place,  and  we  stay  there  not  even  one  night. 
You  must  make  mistake,  and  think  some  other  man  me. 
Sure!" 

We  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  "Sure!"  It  was 
spoken  in  so  truly  an  American  way  that  it  was  funny 
on  those  lips.  Afterward,  however,  it  struck  me  in  re- 
membering the  scene,  that  the  man's  accent  in  speaking 
English  was  even  more  distinctly  American  than  it  had 
been.  This  was  odd,  if  he  had  been  associating  with  Ger- 
mans; but  natural  if  his  new  clients  were  Americans. 

Another  question  was  on  my  tongue,  but  before  I  had 
time  to  speak,  Monny  cried  out:  "Oh,  there's  Wretched 
Bey,  in  a  carriage,  all  alone  with  some  luggage!  I  hope 
he's  going  away!" 


280  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Naturally  we  turned,  but  I  saw  Biddy  raise  her  eye- 
brows warningly.  The  girl  looked  puzzled,  as  if,  for  an 
instant,  she  did  not  see  what  she  had  done  that  was 
wrong.  But  I  guess  that  Biddy's  distrust  of  Bedr  as  a 
possible  spy  was  still  alive  in  her  breast.  She  did  not 
know  of  my  suspicions  concerning  the  "camp  thief,"  for 
the  affair  at  Medinet,  thanks  to  a  white  fib  or  two,  had 
never  assumed  serious  proportions  in  her  mind.  It  did 
not  need  that,  however,  to  make  her  feel  that  Bedr's  ears 
were  not  fit  receptacles  for  secrets. 

Monny  had  not  been  mistaken.  It  was  Rechid  Bey, 
leaning  comfortably  back  in  an  old-fashioned  but  not 
badly  appointed  open  carriage,  drawn  by  two  very  decent 
horses,  and  driven  by  a  smart,  red-sashed,  white-robed 
negro.  We  saw  him  in  profile  as  he  passed  along  the  road 
at  some  distance,  but  he  was  reading  a  paper  with  an  ex- 
pression so  placid  that  I  felt  sure  he  had  not  seen  us.  On 
the  seat  beside  him  was  a  suit  case  with  the  air  of  having 
been  made  in  France;  and  circumstantial  evidence  said 
that  Monny's  wish  was  to  be  granted. 

I  glanced  hastily  at  Bedr,  to  observe,  if  I  could,  whether 
the  girl's  impulsive  exclamation  had  aroused  undue  in- 
terest; for  it  was  not  unlikely  that  he  had  seen  Rechid 
Bey  and  Mabel  landing  at  Alexandria  the  night  of  his 
first  meeting  with  us.  But  the  ugly  face  showed  nothing. 

"If  you  have  things  you  want  to  do,  my  ladies,"  he  said, 
"please  excuse  that  I  have  keeped  you.  I  go  to  my  gen'- 
lemen  or  they  give  the  men  with  the  silver  shawls  too  much 
money." 

The  "gen'lemen"  in  question  were  more  interested  in 
observing  our  movements  than  in  completing  any  bar- 


THE  ASIUT  AFFAIR  281 

gain  with  the  street  vendors;  nevertheless  Bedr  hastened 
back  as  if  in  great  fear  that  they  might  be  cheated.  An 
arabeah  waited  for  them;  and  having  bought  a  scarf  or 
two,  they  drove  off  before  we  had  parted  to  go  our  several 
ways.  An  arabeah  was  in  attendance  upon  us,  also,  and 
we  put  Brigit  and  Monny  into  it  alone,  for  Rechid  Bey's 
house,  the  driver  informed  us,  was  not  far  off. 

"Good  luck!"  I  said  encouragingly,  and  Brigit  smiled 
gayly  at  me;  but  Monny  was  looking  at  Fenton  She  was 
telling  him  something  with  her  eyes;  and,  with  a  significant 
little  gesture,  she  touched  the  small  leather  handbag 
she  carried. 

"One  would  think  she  was  a  suffragette  with  a  bomb," 
I  remarked  to  Anthony,  trying  to  speak  easily,  as  though 
I  were  not  at  all  anxious,  when  the  carriage  had  turned  its 
back  on  us. 

"Instead  of  which,"  said  Anthony,  gazing  at  the  dark 
head  and  the  fair  head,  as  earnestly  as  if  he  never  expected 
to  see  them  again,  "  instead  of  which,  she's  merely  a  brave 
girl  with  a  pistol  that  she  knows  how  to  use.  Or,  anyhow, 
she  says  she  does." 

"Great  heavens!  Has  she  got  one  in  that  bag?"  I 
gasped. 

"She  has.     My  Browning." 

"Jove!    You  gave  it  to  her?" 

"I  did.     Last  night." 

My  heart  began  suddenly  to  feel  like  a  cannon 
ball,  in  my  breast.  I  felt  that  I  had  not  understood  the 
situation,  and  that  now  I  did  not  understand  Anthony  — 
though  that  was  far  from  being  a  new  sensation. 

"I  thought  that  you  thought  there  was  no  danger?"  I 


282  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

bleated.  "You  know  Egypt  and  I  don't.  I  didn't  want 
them  to  go  in  for  this  thing,  but  when  you  said  it  would 
be  all  right,  I  yielded.  I  wish  to  heaven  I  hadn't! " 

"Do  you  think  if  you  hadn't  given  in,  Miss  Gilder 
would  have  given  up?" 

"You  and  I  together  could  have  kept  them  both  out  of 
the  business." 

"Only  by  sheer  force.  You  see,  Miss  Gilder  was  inter- 
ested in  this  girl  and  fond  of  her  before  she  met  you.  So 
was  Mrs.  East.  As  Rechid  tricked  the  pretty  little  gov- 
erness by  making  her'believe  she  would  be  his  first  and  only 
wife,  they  don't  look  upon  her  as  married  to  him:  And 
I  think  they're  right.  Don't  you  glory  in  them  both  for 
knowing  there's  a  risk,  yet  taking  it  so  gayly  for  that  fool- 
ish child's  sake?" 

"  I  glory  in  them,  but  I  wouldn't  have  let  them  go  if " 

"You've  changed  your  mind,  just  because  I  gave  Miss 
Gilder  my  Browning?  Honestly,  Duffer,  I  don't  think 
there's  actual  danger.  But,  anyhow,  don't  you  see,  they 
had  to  go,  and  they  had  to  go  alone.  They  would  have 
hated  us  and  themselves  and  each  other  if  they  hadn't 
answered  the  girl's  appeal.  And  we  couldn't  do  the 
thing,  unfortunately,  as  it  deals  with  the  harem.  If  it  can 
be  done  at  all,  it's  woman's  business.  These  two  are  the 
right  ones,  as  they  felt  bound  to  do  it,  and  you  and  I  can 
but  see  them  through,  from  the  outside." 


XIX 

"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED" 

Now  that  we  were  thoroughly  launched  on  this  some- 
what quixotic  adventure,  I  envied  Anthony  because  his 
part  in  the  drama  kept  him  "  in  the  wings,"  within 
sight  of  the  stage.  He  was  to  watch  the  house  of 
Rechid  Bey,  and  if  the  rescue  party  of  two  did  not  appear 
after  an  hour's  absence,  the  true  story  of  the  affair  and 
Mabel's  appeal  was  to  be  laid  before  the  Inspector  Gene- 
ral of  Upper  Egypt  —  laid  before  him  not  by  "Ahmed 
Antoun  Effendi,"  but  by  Captain  Anthony  Fenton,  offi- 
cially on  leave,  secretly  on  a  special  mission  for  the 
British  government. 

My  r61e,  less  exciting  but  perhaps  no  less  important, 
was  to  play  the  diplomat  in  beguiling  the  American  Consul 
to  stand  by  the  wife  of  Rechid  Bey,  if  the  attempt  at 
rescue  succeeded,  or  —  if  possible  —  even  if  it  failed. 

"Antoun"  accounted  for  his  presence  in  front  of  Rechid 
Bey's  high  garden  wall,  by  attracting  a  crowd,  and  lec- 
turing them  in  his  character  of  Hadji,  while  I  dashed  off 
in  a  jingling  arabeah,  to  the  American  Consulate.  As 
in  Cairo,  my  progress  was  one  long  adjuration  of  the 
crowd  by  the  driver,  who  would  have  revelled  in  con- 
ducting the  car  of  Juggernaut. 

"Shemalak,   ya   welad!"    ("To  the  left,  oh,  boy!"), 

283 


284  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

or  "Yeminick!"  ("To  the  right!"),  he  roared,  while 
men  dived  and  dipped  under  his  horse's  prancing  feet. 
A  hawk  flew  by  on  my  right  side,  and  my  right  eyelid 
twitched,  as  we  neared  the  Consulate.  In  Egypt  these 
were  good  omens.  Besides,  there  had  been  a  red  sunrise, 
which  La  the  Nile  country  had  meant,  since  Egyptians 
superseded  the  prehistoric  "new  race,"  that  Ra  had  con- 
quered his  enemies,  and  stained  the  sky  with  their  blood. 
Therefore  all  should  be  well  with  me  and  the  world;  and 
it  did  seem  as  if  my  hopes  bade  fair  to  be  fulfilled,  when 
in  the  Consul  I  recognized  a  man  I  had  been  able  to  advise 
in  a  small  official  difficulty  in  my  early  days  at  the  Em- 
bassy in  Rome.  This  was  even  more  fortunate  than  in  the 
case  of  Slaney.  We  shook  hands  warmly,  and  as  soon  as 
was  decent,  I  interrupted  a  flow  of  reminiscent  gratitude 
by  flooding  Mr.  James  Bronson  with  the  story  of  Rechid 
Bey's  unhappy  American  bride,  Mabella  Hanem,  ill 
treated  as  well  as  cruelly  deceived,  if  her  story  were  true. 
He  knew  Rechid  slightly,  but  the  marriage  was  news  to 
him.  With  interest  he  listened  to  my  account  of  the 
lonely  little  governess  in  Paris,  bewitched  by  the  love- 
making  of  a  handsome  Turk  as  white  as  herself.  But 
when  I  asked  for  help,  the  Consul  shook  his  head. 

"Lord  Ernest,"  he  said,  "there's  nothing  I'd  like 
better  than  to  pay  my  debt  by  doing  you  some  favour. 
But  you're  asking  me  the  one  thing  that's  hardest,  as 
you  probably  know.  You  understand  as  well  as  I  do 
that  when  a  girl  marries  a  man,  she  ceases  to  be  a 
subject  of  her  native  land.  And  to  interfere  with  the 
inmate  of  a  harem  is  just  about  impossible.  But  I'll 
tell  you  what  I  will  do  for  your  sake.  If  you  can  get  the 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    285 

girl  out  of  Rechid  Bey 's  house  —  which,  mind  you,  I 
doubt  —  you  may  bring  her  to  my  wife,  and  we  '11  cook 
up  some  story  about  her  being  a  relative  of  mine.  So  she 
is,  I  guess,  through  Adam  and  Eve!  If  you  think  she's 
been  badly  treated,  we'll  stand  by  her,  once  she's  under 
this  roof  (which  means  she'll  be  on  American  soil),  through 
thick  and  thin,  whatever  the  consequences.  I  can't  go 
farther,  and  I  don't  believe  you  expected  that  I  would." 

I  admitted  that  I  had  not,  and  thanked  him  for  his 
promise. 

By  this  time,  I  thought  that  Brigit  and  Monny  might 
be  on  their  way  to  meet  me  at  the  Consulate,  as  arranged, 
escorted  by  "Antoun,"  and  perhaps  bringing  Mabel. 
Even  the  route  they  were  to  take  was  planned,  so  that  I 
could  not  miss  them  if  I  started. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Bronson  was  to  interest  his  wife  in 
our  protegee.  Back  I  flew,  my  ears  deafened  by  more 
"Ya  Welads,"  but  though  I  met  many  things  and  many 
creatures  on  the  congested  road,  there  was  no  arabeah 
containing  the  desired  ones.  I  made  my  driver  slacken 
pace  as  we  neared  the  big,  square  pink  house  of  Rechid 
Bey,  set  far  back  in  its  garden  of  palms  and  impossible 
statues,  on  the  bank  of  the  Nile.  No  green  turban  was  in 
sight,  and  I  wondered  what  could  have  happened,  as  we 
drove  slowly  past  the  ponderous  black  gate-keeper,  appar- 
ently half  asleep  on  his  bench.  There  was  nothing  to  do 
but  crawl  along  at  a  snail's  pace,  lest  that  droop  of  the 
crocodile-lids  should  be  assumed  for  effect.  I  went  on, 
meaning  to  turn  presently;  but  when  the  arabeah  had 
taken  me  beyond  eyeshot  of  Rechid's  gate-keeper,  an 
Arab  sacca,  or  water  seller,  ran  forward,  striking  his  musi- 


286  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

cal  gong.  From  his  brass  jar,  protected  by  crimson-dyed 
horse  hair  to  keep  out  dust,  he  offered  a  draught;  and  his 
look  said  that  he  had  something  more  for  me  than  a  drink 
of  water.  I  beckoned  him  close,  stopping  the  arabeah; 
and  under  the  tumbler  he  handed  up  was  a  folded  bit  of 
paper.  None  save  the  water  seller  had  attention  to  spare 
for  me  just  then,  as  a  wedding  procession  was  approach- 
ing, with  a  crude  but  gorgeous  curtained  litter  drawn  by 
camels,  and  a  number  of  musicians  with  raitas,  dara- 
bukas,  the  "key  and  bottle,"  and  other  Eastern  instru- 
ments which  may  have  been  ancestors  of  the  Highlanders' 
bagpipes.  The  street  crowd  followed,  enchanted  by  the 
plaintive,  monotonous  notes,  grotesque  to  newcomers  from 
the  west,  but  enthralling  to  those  who  have  fallen  under 
the  spell  of  their  melancholy  magic. 

"Failure  for  the  present,  but  Miss  G.  and  Mrs.  J. 
safe,"  Anthony  had  scrawled  in  pencil.  "Couldn't 
wait  in  front  of  R.  's  house,  but  you'll  find  us  at  an  Arab 
restaurant  to  which  the  messenger  will  guide  you.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  discharge  your  arabeah,  and  walk 
in  the  direction  the  man  takes,  keeping  your  distance 
in  case  you're  watched." 

I  obeyed  instructions,  and  in  the  town  of  Asiut,  far 
from  the  gardens  along  the  Nile  front,  I  came  to  a  house 
between  the  mosque  of  the  tallest  minaret,  and  the  great 
market  whither  Arabia  as  well  as  Egypt  sends  her  wares. 
It  was  a  house  of  some  pretension,  though  in  a  narrow 
unpaved  street,  lined  with  humble  native  dwellings. 
I  guessed  that  it  must  have  been  built  for  a  rich  man  who 
had  died  or  failed  in  business,  but  now  a  sign  in  Arabic 
announced  that  it  was  a  restaurant.  A  nod  from  the 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    287 

water  seller  told  that  I  had  reached  the  end  of  the  journey. 
Nubian  servants  salaamed  in  the  big  room  where  once  the 
master  of  the  house  had  held  receptions,  and  in  a  smaller 
room  beyond  I  saw  Antoun,  Brigit,  and  Monny.  They 
were  seated  at  a  low  table  where  no  forks  or  knives  or 
even  plates  were  laid.  In  the  centre  of  the  white  cloth 
stood  a  large  dish  of  something  sweet  and  rich-looking, 
from  which  everybody  pretended  to  eat;  but  at  sight  of  me, 
Brigit  and  Monny  began  talking  together.  They  told 
me  breathlessly  how  they  had  been  informed  by  the  gate- 
keeper that  "Mabella  Hanem"  was  not  well.  Having 
insisted  that  they  were  intimate  friends  whom  she  would 
desire  to  see,  they  had  been  bidden  to  return  in  an  hour. 
Reluctantly  coming  away,  they  had  as  soon  as  was  pru- 
dent been  joined  by  Antoun.  He  had  then  taken  them 
to  the  bazaars,  hoping  to  give  them  a  glimpse  of  the 
shops  before  the  Set  returned  from  the  Tombs;  but  they 
had  met  Neill  Sheridan,  who  had  something  to  tell.  He 
had  caught  sight  of  Bedr  running  after  the  carriage  of  a 
Turk  strongly  resembling  Rechid  Bey.  The  carriage 
had  stopped  near  the  railway  station;  and  after  an  in- 
stant's conversation  the  horses  had  been  turned  to  gallop 
off  in  the  direction  whence  they  had  come. 

"Of  course  we  were  sure  the  Turk  was  Rechid,"  said 
Monny,  "so  Antoun  Effendi  thought  we'd  better  go  back 
to  watch  his  house.  When  we  got  there,  it  was  too  late, 
for  already  some  time  had  passed  since  Mr.  Sheridan 
saw  Bedr.  Rechid 's  gate-man  said  that  Mabella  Hdnem 
was  suddenly  better,  and  had  gone  away  with  her  husband. 
He  could  talk  a  little  French,  so  we  understood  perfectly 
—  and,  anyhow,  you  know  I'm  studying  Arabic.  It's  so 


288  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

discouraging  when  Arabs  answer  me  in  Cockney  English, 
or  say  *  Sure'  hi  American !  We  believed  the  fellow,  because 
it  seemed  exactly  what  Wretched  icould  do  —  come  back 
and  grab  Mabel  away  at  a  minute's  notice.  So  unfortu- 
nate about  Neill  Sheridan!  Wretched  was  idiotically 
jealous  of  him  on  the  Laconia;  and  if  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  him  to-day  he's  certain  to  think  Mr.  Sheridan's  here 
to  try  and  see  Mabel.  We  tore  to  the  railroad  depot,  but 
the  train  was  just  going  out.  No  doubt  Rechid  and  his 
wife  were  both  on  it.  Isn't  it  heartbreaking?" 

I  sat  mute,  thinking  things  over,  but  Anthony  tried 
to  give  consolation  by  saying  that  he  still  had  some  hope. 
He  had  found  out  that  Rechid  Bey  owned  a  sugar  plan- 
tation, with  a  house  on  it,  near  Luxor.  The  train  which 
had  left  Asiut  was  bound  for  Luxor.  In  a  very  few 
days  our  boat  would  land  us  there,  and  we  would  try 
our  luck  again. 

"Not  much  doubt,"  Fenton  added,  speaking  as  always 
in  French,  "that  this  is  Bedr's  revenge  on  us.  He  must 
have  told  Rechid  that  Miss  Gilder  had  mentioned  his 
name  saying  she  hoped  he  was  leaving  home.  That  hint 
of  danger  would  be  enough  for  any  Turk." 

"It  will  be  my  fault,  then,"  moaned  Monny,  "if  he 
kills  Mabel.  He's  deceived  and  shut  her  up  and  tried 
to  convert  her.  Worse  than  all,  he  has  another  wife. 
The  next  step  will  be  murder.  Oh,  how  can  we  bear  the 
delay  of  going  on  to  Luxor  by  boat!  Hadn't  we  better 
take  a  train?  Better  miss  all  the  things  we've  come  to 
Egypt  to  see,  rather  than  leave  Mabel  to  her  fate." 

"Rechid  isn't  the  sort  to  have  her  put  out  of  the  way," 
said  Anthony.  "He's  not  a  bad  fellow,  as  such  men 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    289 

go,  and  he's  hardly  had  time  to  tire  of  his  conquest 
yet.  According  to  his  lights,  he's  right  not  to  allow 
any  interfernece  with  his  harem  from  Europeans.  He 
was  jealous  on  board  ship,  of  one  or  two  men  of  your 
acquaintance,  you've  told  me.  This  attempted  visit 
of  yours  will  revive  his  interest  in  his  wife,  inconveniently 
for  us;  but  if  I  know  his  type  it  will  die  down  again,  the 
minute  he  thinks  he  has  covered  his  tracks.  For  a  day 
or  two  he  will  be  a  dragon.  Then  he'll  begin  to  think 
we  're  discouraged,  or  that  we  haven 't  found  out  about  his 
sugar  plantation,  or  that  nothing  more  than  a  visit  to  his 
wife  was  intended,  and  he'll  turn  his  attention  to  other 
things  than  watch-dogging.  It's  far  better  to  go  on  by 
boat,  and  make  a  dash  when  he's  off  guard  again." 

After  a  few  arguments,  we  agreed  with  "Antoun,"  as 
we  usually  ended  by  doing,  and  soothed  our  restlessness 
by  visiting  Mr.  Bronson  to  tell  him  of  our  disappointment. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  Monny,  I  think  the  Consul  would 
have  taken  the  point  of  view  that  he  was  now  "out" 
of  the  affair,  but  Monny,  sapphire-eyed  with  generous  zeal, 
is  rather  irresistible.  Fired  by  her  enthusiasm,  as  he  had 
not  been  by  my  beguiling,  he  volunteered  to  go  to  Luxor  on 
two  or  three  days'  leave,  with  his  wife,  to  visit  a  Syrian 
friend  who  had  often  vainly  invited  them  to  his  villa,  and 
arriving  if  possible  about  the  time  our  boat  was  due.  If 
we  succeeded  in  our  quest,  we  might  bring  Mabel  to  them, 
and  they  would  smuggle  her  back  to  the  American  Con- 
sulate at  Asiut. 

Our  great  adventure  thus  postponed,  we  let  the  Nile- 
dream  take  us  once  more;  and  though  we  had  moments  of 
impatience,  th°  dream  was  too  fair  to  be  resisted.  Be- 


290  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

sides,  we  were  all  four  dreaming  it  together.  Poor  Cleo- 
patra was  the  only  one  outside,  for  Rachel  Guest  was 
dreaming  her  own  dream,  with  an  extremely  practical  side 
to  it,  unless  Biddy  and  I  were  mistaken.  She  wore 
Monny  's  clothes,  and  used  her  special  perfume,  and  took 
advantage  of  the  same  initials,  to  accept  gifts  of  filmy  hand- 
kerchiefs and  monogrammed  bags  and  brushes.  Also  she 
had  firmly  annexed  most  of  the  men  on  board  who  would, 
in  normal  states  of  mind,  have  belonged  to  the  Gilded 
Rose.  But  they  all  seemed  to  have  gone  mad  on  the 
subject  of  Miss  Guest.  Even  Harry  Snell,  who  had  been 
the  property  of  Enid  Biddell  on  board  the  Candace, 
on  the  Enchantress  Isis  was  gravitating  Guest-ward, 
lured  by  that  meek,  mysterious  witchery  which  I  was  try- 
ing hard  to  understand. 

We  got  past  Sohag,  and  the  famous  White  and  Red 
Coptic  Monasteries  built  by  Saint  Helena,  without  jar- 
ring notes  of  any  sort  in  the  Nile-dream  (save  for  the 
failure  of  our  rescue  plot) :  past  Akhmin,  which  Herodotus 
wrote  of  as  Chemmis:  past  Girgah,  where  once  stood  an- 
cient This,  that  gave  the  first  dynasty  of  kings  to  Egypt: 
but  when  we  arrived  at  Baliana  to  visit  Abydos,  between 
Enid  Biddell  and  Harry  Snell  I  had  an  interlude  of  night- 
mare. It  was  Rachel's  fault,  but  it  was  I  who  had  to 
suffer  for  her  sins.  I,  who  had  engaged  as  Conductor  of 
the  Set  and  found  myself  their  Arbiter  as  well. 

Other  tourists  on  other  boats  do  not  see  Abydos  until 
the  return  trip;  but  the  aim  of  Sir  Marcus  was  originality 
as  well  as  "exclusiveness."  This  was  a  special  tour, 
and  everything  we  were  to  do  must  be  special.  Some 
passengers  might  wish  to  stay  longer  than  others  at 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    291 

Khartum,  or  from  there  go  up  the  White  or  Blue  Nile  after 
Big  Game.  Or  they  might  tire  of  the  Nile,  and  wish  to 
tear  back  to  Cairo  by  train.  Sir  Marcus  was  boldly 
outdoing  his  rivals  by  allowing  clients  to  engage  cabins 
for  "up  Nile"  only,  instead  of  paying  the  return  also: 
and  they  were  not  to  miss  any  temple  because  of  this 
concession.  "I  consider  it  an  advertisement,  and  a 
cheap  one,"  he  had  explained  to  me,  in  saying  that  we 
were  to  visit  at  Abydos  on  our  way  south. 

Beautiful  smiling  donkeys,  adorned  with  beads  and 
amulets,  met  us  at  the  boat-landing.  We  ought  to  have 
called  it  Al-Balyana,  but  we  didn  't.  We  called  it  Baliana, 
and  we  pronounced  Abydos  according  to  our  education. 
We  had  a  ride  of  an  hour  and  a  half  from  the  boat  to  the 
temple;  and  having  sent  off  Cleopatra  and  Lady  Biddell 
in  a  carriage,  my  conscience  was  free,  my  heart  light. 
The  sun  shone  on  tawny  desert  hills,  like  lions  creeping 
stealthily  out  from  the  horizon  toward  the  Nile  to  drink. 
There  were  sweet  smells  of  unseen  flowers,  and  herbs 
such  as  ancient  Egyptian  doctors  used,  and  I  looked  for- 
ward to  keeping  my  donkey  near  Biddy's.  Of  course  I 
ought  to  have  preferred  Monny's,  but  then,  I  could  talk 
of  Monny  to  Biddy,  and  we  had  had  so  many  subjects 
in  common  since  childhood  that  it  was  restful  to  ride 
even  the  most  energetic  donkey  at  the  side  of  "Mrs. 
Jones."  No  sooner,  however,  had  I  begun  to  urge  my 
gray  animal  after  her  white  one,  than  I  was  called  by 
Enid  Biddell.  "Oh,  Lord  Ernest!  I  must  speak  to  you!" 
she  pleaded  so  piteously  that  I  couldn't  pretend  not 
to  hear. 

When  we  were  ambling  side  by  side,  separated  from 


292  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

the  rest  of  the  party  by  a  gleaming  cloud  of  copper  dust, 
a  few  long-haired,  brown  sheep,  some  blue-eyed  water 
buffalo,  and  a  plague  of  little  birds,  Enid  turned  upon 
me  a  pair  of  tear-wet  eyes. 

"Why,  Miss  Biddell,  what  is  the  matter  —  or  is  it  a 
cold  in  your  head?"  I  asked  anxiously. 

"It's  not  a  cold  in  my  head,"  she  confessed.  "It's  a 
dreadful,  dreadful  pain  in  my  heart.  And  you're  the 
only  one  who  can  cure  it." 

For  a  fearful  moment  I  thought  that  she  was  going 
to  propose.  One  hears  of  these  awful  visitations.  But  I 
need  not  have  trembled. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  could  say  anything  to  you,"  she  murmured. 
"You  are  so  understanding,  and  so  sympathetic." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  reply  that  it  was  my 
duty  as  Conductor  to  be  so,  and  that,  if  I  succeeded,  a 
mountain  full  of  hidden  treasure  might  perhaps  reward  me. 
But  just  in  tune  I  realized  that  this  speech  would  not  be 
tactful.  Instead  of  speaking,  I  looked  at  her  and  let 
her  go  on. 

"  It's  Harry  Snell,"  she  said.  "  You  have  influence  with 
him.  He  thinks  you  such  a  great  swell,  he'd  hate  to  do 
anything  you  would  call  unworthy  of  a  gentleman.  He  — 
he's  making  me  so  unhappy.  He's  done  —  everything 
—  to  win  my  love  and  now  —  now  he's  gone  over  to  that 
Miss  Guest."  The  donkey  having  begun  inopportunely 
to  trot,  the  words  were  jolted  out,  one  after  another,  like  a 
shower  of  pebbles.  And  they  fell  on  my  feelings  like  pav- 
ing stones.  She  expected  me  to  do  something  about  it! 
Horrible!  I  should  almost  have  preferred  the  proposal. 

"My  dear  Miss  Biddell,"  I  soothed  her  in  my  best 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    293 

salad-oil  voice,  cultivated  at  the  Embassy,  "you  are  much 
prettier  than  Miss  Guest,  and  you  can  win  Snell  back 
easily  if  you  want  him.  Probably  he's  only  flirting,  to 
make  you  jealous." 

"It's  me  he  was  flirting  with,"  she  moaned.  "But  I 
don't  believe  he  cares  for  Miss  Guest.  It's  only  a  case  of 
'follow  my  leader,'  because  other  men  like  her  so  much. 
Nothing  succeeds  like  success,  you  know.  And  other 
men's  admiration  is  the  most  becoming  background  a  girl 
can  have.  He  told  Mrs.  Harlow  it  was  haunting  him,  that 
Elaine  and  I  would  get  fat  like  our  mother,  and  the  men 
who  married  us  would  have  to  spend  dull  years  seeing 
us  slowly  grow  into  mother's  likeness.  Wasn't  it  cruel? 
And  we  eat  scarcely  anything  except  pickles  on  purpose 
to  keep  thin.  But  that's  only  his  excuse.  It's  the 
romance  of  the  situation,  and  the  secret  that  appeals  to 
him." 

"What  secret?"  I  felt  entitled  to  inquire. 

"Why,  the  secret  between  those  two  girls,  Miss  Gilder 
and  Miss  Guest.  You  know  what  all  the  men  believe 
about  them,  don't  you?  But  of  course  you  do." 

"But  of  course  I  don't." 

"WTiy,  that  they've  changed  places,  to  deceive  people, 
just  as  heiresses  and  poor  girls  do  in  old-fashioned  plays 
or  books.  They  think  Miss  Gilder  (I  mean  the  girl 
we  call  Miss  Gilder)  is  really  the  school-teacher,  and 
the  one  we  call  Miss  Guest,  and  that  all  the  men  are 
after,  is  Rosamond  Gilder  the  cannon  heiress." 

"Whew!"  I  whistled,  bumpily,  as  my  donkey  kept  up 
with  Enid's.  "For  goodness'  sake,  what  makes  them 
think  that?" 


294  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"I  don't  know  exactly  how  the  story  started,  but  it 
seems  authentic.  Have  you  known  them  long?" 

"Only  since  Naples.     But " 

"Then  you  can't  be  certain  whether  it's  true  or  not?" 

I  paused,  swallowing  an  answer.  So  this  was  the 
explanation  of  the  Monny  puzzle!  Yet  it  was  but  the 
first  word  of  another  enigma.  Who  was  responsible 
for  the  wild  story?  There  was  more  than  met  the  eye  — 
or  ear  —  in  this.  I  could  hardly  believe  that  Monny 
would  have  chosen,  or  Rachel  dared,  to  start  this  rumour, 
though  it  might  have  amused  the  real  heiress,  and  suited 
the  false  one,  to  watch  it  run.  I  dared  not  contradict 
it  flatly,  without  consulting  Brigit  or  the  Gilded  Rose  her- 
self. It  was  not  my  business  to  be  a  spoil-sport,  if  there 
were  sport  to  spoil,  no  matter  how  sternly  I  might  dis- 
approve. 

"In  the  matter  of  actual  knowledge,  I  have  very  h'ttle 
about  Miss  Gilder,"  I  decided  to  reply,  "except  that  she's 
charming  enough  and  pretty  enough  for  any  man  to 
fall  in  love  with,  if  she  hadn't  a  penny.  As  for  Miss 
Guest " 

"Miss  Guest  is  a  cat!  And  if  only  you'll  tell  Harry 
Snell  so,  I'll  bless  you  all  my  life." 

"Good  gracious!     I  couldn't  do  that." 

"I  mean,  tell  him  you  think  she  isn't  the  heiress,  that 
she's  only  what  she  seems  to  be,  and  nothing  mysterious 
or  interesting.  He'll  believe  you!  Why,  she  can't  have 
any  money,  or  even  a  nice  mind.  She  always  writes  'No,' 
with  her  finger  on  top  of  her  cold  cream  at  hotels,  she  told 
me  so  herself.  Not  that  it's  any  good  with  Arabs,  they 
don't  want  to  steal  cold  cream.  But  such  a  trick  would 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    295 

never  occur  to  a  rich  girl,  would  it?  She  grows  vainer 
every  day,  too,  till  one  can  just  see  vanity  spouting  from 
the  top  of  her  head.  She  intends  to  use  this  mistake 
people  are  making  about  her,  to  bag  a  rich  man  like  Harry 
Snell,  or  a  successful  one  with  a  big,  growing  reputation 
like  Mr.  Bailey  the  American  sculptor.  You  will  help 
me  save  Harry  from  her,  and  bring  him  back  to  me,  won't 
you?  You're  the  only  one  he'll  listen  to.  If  you  don't 
speak,  I  shall  simply  jump  overboard  into  the  Nile,  and 
Sir  Marcus  Lark  would  hate  that." 

"So  should  I,  dear  Miss  Biddell,"  I  assured  her.  "But 
what  can  I  possibly  do  in  —  in  such  a  very  intimate 
matter?  " 

"Why,  you're  a  diplomat,  aren't  you?  I  thought  they 
always  knew  what  to  do.  You  make  us  all  dance  to  your 
tune  like  puppets,  and  imagine  we're  prancing  about  to 
please  ourselves.  Tell  him  he's  breaking  my  heart." 

"By  Jove!  You're  not  in  earnest?" 

"I  am.  Oh,  he  must  come  back!  I  thought  on 
board  the  Candace  we  were  as  good  as  engaged.  I  —  I 
submitted  to  his  kisses,  and  now " 

''Submitted'  is  a  good  word,"  I  sneered  to  my  inner 
self,  but  outwardly  I  submitted  a  handkerchief  to  the 
lady,  as  she  had  lost  hers  in  one  of  the  last  donkey  jolts, 
and  ventured  to  insert  sympathetically  into  a  pause  a 
small  suggestion.  It  was  usual,  I  reminded  Miss  Biddell, 
if  a  gentleman's  intentions  had  to  be  asked,  that  the 
father  did  the  asking.  This  hint,  however,  fell  flatter  than 
a  flounder;  and  all  the  way  to  Abydos,  most  sacred  temple 
of  ancient  Egypt,  I  was  persecuted  with  Enid  Biddell 's 
woes,  when  I  should  have  been  free  to  meditate  upon  the 


296  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

tragic  history  of  Isis  and  Osiris.  It  was  here  that  the 
head  of  the  murdered  god  was  buried,  and  perhaps  his 
whole  body,  when  the  magic  secret  of  Thoth  had  enabled 
Isis  to  collect  the  fourteen  separate  pieces  Set  had  hid- 
den. Many  temples  claimed  the  sacred  body  of  Osiris, 
ruler  over  departed  spirits  and  Amenti,  their  dim  dwelling 
place  beyond  the  western  desert;  Philae  and  Memphis 
among  others;  but  it  was  Abydos  to  which  the  Egyptians 
give  their  most  reverent  faith,  as  the  true  burial  place 
of  the  Beloved  One.  It  was  there  they  wished  to  lie 
when  they  died  and  were  mummied,  in  order  to  rest 
through  eternity  near  the  relic  of  their  most  precious  god. 
Thus  a  necropolis  grew  like  a  poppy-garden  of  sleep,  round 
the  temple;  and  a  city  rose  also.  But  even  in  the  long-ago 
time  of  Strabo,  the  city  was  reduced  to  a  village,  and  all 
traces  of  the  shrine  had  vanished.  The  great  white  jewel 
of  the  temples  —  temple  of  Seti  I,  and  the  temple  of  his 
son  Rameses  II  —  remain  to  this  day,  however,  with  the 
Tablet  of  Ancestors  which  has  helped  in  the  tracing  of 
Egyptian  history.  Therefore  is  it  that  this  treasure  of 
the  Nile-desert  is  still  a  shrine  for  travellers  from  the  four 
corners  of  the  earth. 

After  the  long,  straight  road,  and  a  high,  sudden  hill, 
we  came  face  to  face  with  the  marble-wiiite  columns  of  the 
outer  court.  If  I  had  been  with  Brigit  or  Monny,  I 
could  have  run  back  into  the  past,  hand  in  hand  with 
either,  to  see  with  my  mind's  eyes  the  white  limestone 
palace  of  Memnon,  copied  from  the  Labyrinth,  standing 
above  the  city  between  the  canal  and  the  desert.  I 
should  have  peered  into  the  depths  of  its  fountain;  and 
with  a  hand  shading  my  eyeballs  from  the  sun  I  should 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    297 

have  gazed  at  the  grove  of  Horus'  sacred  acanthus  trees, 
dark  against  the  burning  blue.  I  should  have  found  the 
Royal  tombs  which  Rameses  restored,  grouped  near  the 
buried  body  of  Osiris.  But  bad  luck  gave  me  Enid  Bid- 
dell  for  my  companion.  She  would  not  let  any  one  else 
come  near  me,  even  had  the  Right  Somebody  wished  to 
dispute  my  battered  remains  with  her.  "Antoun  Ef- 
fendi"had  the  others  hypnotized,  and  I  wondered  if  they 
noticed  how  like  his  boldly  cut  profile  was  to  certain 
portraits  of  the  youthful  Rameses  carved  on  the  glit- 
tering white  walls.  So  splendid  were  they  that  had  I 
been  a  woman  my  spirit  would  have  rushed  back  along 
the  sand-obliterated,  devious  paths  of  Egypt's  history, 
to  find  and  fall  at  the  feet  of  their  original.  But  — 
there  was  Antoun,  much  easier  to  get  at,  and  perhaps 
better  worth  the  gift  of  a  woman 's  heart  than  Rameses  the 
Great  with  all  his  faults  and  cruelties ! 

Crowds  of  birds  lived  in  interstices  of  the  broken 
columns,  and  their  tiny  faces  peeped  out  like  flowers 
growing  among  rocks,  their  eyes  bright  and  arresting 
as  personal  anecdotes  in  long,  dull  chapters  of  history. 
They  seemed  to  look  at  me,  and  sympathize,  cocking 
their  heads  on  one  side  as  if  to  say,  "Poor,  foolish,  modern 
man,  why  don't  you  make  a  virtue  of  necessity  and  get 
rid  of  this  still  more  foolish  modern  maid,  by  promising 
her  anything  she  asks?  Then  you  can  go  listen  to  that 
princely  looking  person  in  the  green  turban,  who  might 
be  descended  from  the  kings  our  ancestors  used  to  behold. 
He  does  seem  to  know  something  about  the  history  of 
this  place,  on  which  we  are  authorities!  The  dragomans 
who  bring  crowds  of  tourists  to  our  temple  and  gabble 


298  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

nonsense,  put  us  really  off  our  feed.  Peep,  peep!  Just 
hear  him  tell  about  the  staircase  we're  so  proud  of. 
Did  you  know  there  was  a  picture  of  it  in  the  Book  of  The 
Dead,  with  Osiris  standing  at  the  top,  like  a  good  host 
waiting  to  receive  his  guests?  Well,  then,  if  you  didn't, 
do  anything  you  must  to  escape  from  that  lovesick  girl, 
while  there's  time  to  hear  a  real  scholar  talk  of  'Him  who 
is  at  the  Head  of  the  Staircase ! '  Peep,  peep !  Hurry  up, 
or  you  '11  lose  it  all,  you  Silly.  Of  course,  the  real  stair- 
case is  in  Amenti,  which  your  Roman  Catholics  call 
Purgatory;  and  no  doubt  Osiris  is  standing  on  it  to  this 
day." 

So  I  took  the  birds'  advice,  and  promised  Enid  to  have 
a  "heart  to  heart"  talk  with  Harry  Snell.  Satisfied  that 
she  had  got  all  that  was  to  be  got  out  of  me,  she  powdered 
her  nose  (in  the  same  spirit  that  David  anointed  his 
head)  and  attached  herself  to  Rachel,  in  whose  train  was 
the  Desired  One.  Thus  basely  did  I  free  myself  to  enjoy 
the  society  of  Biddy  and  Osiris,  with  lovely  carved  glimpses 
of  Isis  thrown  in,  to  say  nothing  of  Seti  I  and  Rameses  H. 
Trying  to  push  into  the  background  of  my  mind  the 
nauseating  thought  of  my  vow  and  its  fulfillment,  I 
helped  Brigit  and  Monny  take  snapshots  of  King  Seti 
showing  his  son  Rameses  how  to  lasso,  and  also  to  catch 
by  its  tail  the  most  fascinating  of  bulls.  They  were  on  the 
wall,  of  course  (Rameses  and  Seti,  I  mean,  not  Brigit  and 
Monny),  but  seemed  so  real  they  might  leap  off  at  any 
instant;  and  so  charmed  was  Monny  with  Rameses' 
braided  "lock  of  youth"  that  she  resolved  to  try  one  over 
her  left  temple  in  connection  with  an  Egyptian  Princess 
costume  she  was  having  made  for  some  future  fancy-dress 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    299 

ball.  "I  can't  take  a  grain  of  interest  in  any  one  but 
Egyptian  Princes  and  Princesses  and  their  profiles," 
she  exclaimed;  then  blushed  faintly  and  added,  "I  mean 
Princes  and  Princesses  of  the  past" 

We  got  some  good  pictures  of  the  temple  of  Seti,  for 
Monny  had  an  apparatus  for  natural  colour  photography 
which  gave  sensational  results  in  ancient  wall-paintings  — 
when  any  one  except  Monny  herself  did  the  taking.  It 
was  better  still  in  the  Seven  Chapels,  the  holy  of  holies  at 
Abydos,  and  in  the  joy  of  my  first  colour  photography  I 
forgot  the  doom  ahead.  Appropriately,  the  sword  I  had 
hung  up  over  my  own  cranium  descended  in  the  Necro- 
polis, at  that  place  of  tombs  called  Umm  el-Ka'ab, 
"Mother  of  Pots."  Nobody  wanted  to  see  the  fragments 
of  this  mother's  pots,  but  I  insisted  on  a  brief  visit,  as  im- 
portant discoveries  have  been  made  there,  among  the 
most  important  in  Egypt.  It  was  a  dreary  place  where 
Harry  Snell  strolled  up  and  caught  me  alone,  gazing 
at  a  desolation  of  sandy  hillocks,  full  of  Undiscovered 
treasure. 

"Look  here,"  said  he.  "You're  supposed  to  know 
everything.  Tell  me  why  they  call  seats  outside  shops  in 
bazaars,  and  tombs  of  the  Ancient  Empire  by  the  same 
name:  mastaba?" 

I  explained  that  mastaba  was  an  Arab  word  meaning 
bench.  Then,  realizing  that  it  would  be  flying  in  the  face 
of  Providence  not  to  get  the  ordeal  over  while  my  blood 
was  up,  I  spoke  of  Enid.  Among  the  shattered  pots  and 
yawning  sepulchres,  I  racked  up  her  broken  heart  and 
blighted  affections.  I  talked  to  Snell  like  a  brother,  and 
when  he  had  heard  me  through  in  silence,  to  the  place  where 


300  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

words  and  breath  failed,  I  thought  that  I  had  moved  him. 
His  eyes  were  downcast.  I  fancied  that  I  saw  a  mist  as  of 
tears,  a  man's  slow  tears.  Then  suddenly  he  opened  his 
eyelids  wide,  and  glared  —  a  glare  stony  as  the  pots,  and 
as  the  desert  hills.  "Borrow,"  he  said,  "I  thought  you 
were  a  good  fellow  and  a  man  of  the  world.  I  see  now 
that  you're  a  damned  sentimental  ass." 

With  this  he  stalked  off,  and  I  could  not  run  after  him 
to  bash  his  head,  because  what  he  said  was  perfectly 
true.  I  was  almost  sorry  that  evening,  on  board  the 
boat,  when  he  apologized  and  the  Nile-dream  went  on 
as  if  I  hadn't  broken  it  by  being  the  sort  of  fool  Snell  had 
said  that  I  was. 

In  the  dream  were  Nile  cities,  with  crowding  houses 
whose  walls  were  heightened  by  tier  upon  tier  of  rose- 
and-white  pots,  moulded  in  with  honey-coloured  mud. 
There  were  stretches  of  sandy  shore,  and  green  gloom 
of  palm  groves.  There  were  domed  tombs  of  saints, 
glittering  like  snow-palaces  in  the  sun.  There  were 
great  golden  mounds  inlaid  with  strips  of  paler  gold  picked 
out  with  ebony.  There  were  sinister  hillsides  cut  into 
squarely  by  door-holes,  leading  to  cave-dwellings.  There 
were  always  shadoofs,  where  giant  soup-ladles  everlast- 
ingly dipped  water  and  threw  it  out  again,  mounting  up 
from  level  to  level  of  the  brown,  dyke-like  shore.  The 
wistful,  musical  wail  of  the  men  at  the  wells  was  as  near 
to  the  voice  of  Nature  as  the  sighing  of  wind,  or  the 
breaking  of  waves  which  has  never  ceased  since  the  world 
began.  Sometimes  the  horizon  was  opal,  sometimes  it 
throbbed  with  azure  fire,  or  blazed  ruby  red,  as  the  torch 
of  sunset  swept  west  and  east  before  the  emerald  dark- 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    301 

ness  fell.  When  our  Enchantress  landed,  great  flocks 
of  kites,  like  in  form  and  wing  to  the  sacred  vulture 
of  Egypt,  flew  to  welcome  us  with  swoopings  of  wide  pur- 
ple wings.  Their  shadows  on  the  water  were  like  passing 
spirits;  and  at  night  when  the  Nubian  boatmen  danced, 
their  feet  thudding  on  the  lower  deck  to  the  cry  of  the 
darabukah,  the  Nile  whispered  of  the  past,  with  a  tinkling 
whisper,  like  the  music  of  Hathor's  sacred  sistrum.  Gyas- 
sas  glided  by,  loaded  with  pots  like  magic  melons,  long 
masts  pointing  as  though  they  had  been  wands  in  the 
hands  of  astrologers:  and  the  reflection  of  the  piled 
pots  as  they  moved  gave  vague  glimpses  as  of  sunken 
treasure. 

Denderah  meant  work  for  Fenton.  There  had  been 
trouble  there,  and  tourists  had  complained  of  insults. 
It  was  the  Hadji's  business  to  find  out  whether  natives 
or  Europeans  had  been  more  to  blame,  and  whether  there 
were  wrongs  to  right,  misunderstandings  to  adjust.  But 
to  the  rest  of  us,  Denderah  meant  the  sacred  temple  of 
Hathor,  Goddess  of  Love,  in  some  ways  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  the  Nile  temples;  though,  being  not  much 
over  two  thousand  years  old  (it  was  built  upon  ruins 
more  ancient  than  King  Menes)  archeologists  like  Neill 
Sheridan  class  it  as  "late  Ptolemaic,"  uninterestingly 
modern. 

Mrs.  East  had  been  looking  forward  to  the  temple  of 
Denderah  more  eagerly  than  to  any  other,  because  she 
had  read  that  on  an  outer  wall  was  carved  the  portrait 
of  Cleopatra  the  Great.  That  of  Csesarion  was  there 
also,  as  she  must  have  known;  but  Cleopatra's  son  was 
never  referred  to  by  her  reincarnation,  who  chose  to 


302  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

ignore  the  Caesar  incident.  Mrs.  East  had  not  yet  deigned 
to  mount  a  donkey,  but  to  reach  the  temple  she  must  do  so 
or  walk,  or  sway  in  a  dangerous  looking  chaise  a  porteur. 
Rather  than  miss  the  joy  of  seeing  herself  on  a  stone  wall 
as  others  had  had  the  privilege  of  seeing  her  for  two  thou- 
sand years,  she  consented  to  accept  as  a  seat  a  large  gray 
animal,  tasselled  with  red  to  keep  off  flies  and  evil  eyes. 
"  Won't  you  ride  with  me,  Antoun  Effendi?"  she  asked. 
"I'm  afraid.  This  creature  looks  as  large  as  an  elephant 
and  as  wild  as  a  zebra.  I  feel  you  could  calm  him."  But 
Antoun  Effendi  was  not  going  to  ride.  He  had  other 
fish  to  fry;  and  poor  Cleopatra's  luminous  dark  eyes  were 
like  overflowing  lakes,  when  he  had  politely  excused 
himself  on  the  plea  of  a  pressing  engagement.  I  felt 
sure  that  she  would  have  been  kind  to  Sir  Marcus  if 
at  that  moment  he  could  have  appeared  from  behind  the 
picturesque  group  of  bead-necklace  sellers,  or  emerged 
from  one  of  the  huge  bright-coloured  baskets  exposed  for 
sale  on  a  hill  of  brown-gold  sand. 

I  don't  know  whether  it  made  things  better  or  worse 
that  the  gray  donkey  should  be  named  "Cleopatra," 
but  it  was  evidently  a  blow  when  the  animal's  white- 
robed  attendant  announced  himself  as  Anthony. 

"  I  can't  and  won't  have  the  creature  with  me ! "  she  mur- 
mured, as  I  helped  her  to  mount  when  she  had  pushed  the 
boy  aside.  "Thank  you,  Lord  Ernest.  You're  very  kind. 
But  Antoun  ought  to  have  been  here.  Fancy  seeing  this 
temple,  of  all  others,  without  an  Anthony  of  any  sort  on 
the  horizon!  A  pity  it  isn't  your  middle  name!  If  you 
could  spare  time  to  ride  with  me,  that  would  be  better 
than  nothing!" 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    303 

"I'll  be  delighted,"  I  said  hypocritically,  for  I  had  been 
dying  to  talk  with  Brigit  about  the  Monny  and  Rachel 
imbroglio  which,  as  a  hard- worked  Conductor,  I  had  not 
since  Abydos  found  a  chance  to  discuss.  Besides,  Biddy 
had  whispered  in  passing  that  a  letter  just  delivered  at 
Denderah,  hac'  brought  exciting  news  of  Esme  O'Brien. 
But  I  was  sorry  for  Cleopatra,  and  wondered  whether  I 
could  manage  after  all  to  hint  an  explanation  of  the  hiero- 
glyphic love-letter  —  that  fatal  letter  of  mine  which  had 
stealthily  made  mischief  between  Mrs.  East  and  Anthony. 
I  didn't  quite  see  how  the  subject  was  to  be  broached:  stilj, 
some  way  might  open.  "I'm  sorry  about  the  middle 
name,"  I  said.  "But  if  I  assumed  it  —  like  a  virtue  which 
I  have  not  —  I  should  be  the  third  person  connected  with 
this  trip,  labelled  the  same  fashion." 

"Who  is  the  second  person?"  she  asked  abruptly,  as 
all  the  animals  of  the  party  started  to  trot  vivaciously 
through  the  blowing  yellow  sand. 

"Sir  Marcus.  Surely  you've  heard  that  his  'A*  stands 
for  Antonius?" 

"Good  heavens!"  she  gasped:  and  I  hardly  knew 
whether  it  was  the  shock  of  my  news,  or  a  jolt  of  the 
donkey  which  forced  the  exclamation.  Whatever  it 
was,  the  emotion  she  felt  bound  her  to  silence  after  that 
one  outburst.  She  said  not  a  word,  and  did  not  even 
groan  or  threaten  to  fall  off  when  both  our  beasts  broke 
into  a  thumping  gallop.  In  silence  we  swept  round 
that  great  bulk  of  rubbish  heap,  Roman  and  early  Chris- 
tian, under  which  lies  An,  the  town  of  the  Column. 
Cleopatra  did  not  cry  out  when  suddenly  we  came  in 
sight  of  Hathor's  temple,  honey-gold  against  the  tur- 


304  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

quoise  sky,  and  vast  as  some  Wagnerian  palace  of  the  gods. 
The  tasselled  donkey  (or  I)  had  given  her  cause  to 
think.  Or  perhaps  she  did  not  consider  me  worth  talking 
to,  as  we  approached  the  temple  toward  which  all  her 
previous  travelling  had  been  a  mere  pilgrimage.  Still 
silently,  when  we  had  left  our  donkeys  and  were  following 
the  crowd  up  the  dromos  (Harry  Snell  actually  with 
Enid,  thanks  to  me  and  the  wisdom  of  second  thoughts), 
Cleopatra's  eyes  wandered  over  the  Hathor-headed 
columns  with  their  clinging  colour;  and  over  the  portal 
with  its  brilliant  mass  of  yellow,  of  dark  Pompeian  red, 
and  the  green-blue  sacred  to  Hathor,  whom  Horus 
loved  —  Venus-Hathor,  whose  priestesses  danced  within 
these  walls  in  Cleopatra  "s  day.  "Oh,  this  red  and  this 
green-blue  were  my  colours,  I  remember,"  she  murmured, 
and  then  hardly  spoke  when  I  walked  with  her  in  the  gloom 
of  the  temple  itself  —  the'  rich  gloom  under  heavily  orna- 
mented ceilings.  She  wanted  to  save  the  portrait  till  the 
last,  she  announced,  until  after  she  had  seen  everything 
else:  and  she  didn't  care  what  Mr.  Sheridan  said  about  her 
temple;  it  was  wonderful.  £  tried  to  interest  her  in  the 
crocodiles,  which  had  been  detested  and  persecuted  at 
Denderah  in  the  late  Cleopatra's  time  as  ardently  as  they 
were  worshipped  at  Crocodilopolis  and  other  places.  I 
joked  about  Old  Egypt  having  consisted  of  "crocs  and 
non  crocs,"  just  as  the  inhabitants  of  Florence  had  to  be 
Guelphs  or  Ghibellines.  I  explained  carefully  the  geog- 
raphy of  the  place,  or  rather,  "reminded"  Cleopatra  of 
it,  adding  details  of  the  canal  which  once  led  to  Koptos, 
where  the  magic  book  of  the  Wisdom  of  Thoth  lay  hidden 
under  the  Nile.  I  could  not  waken  Mrs.  East  from  reverie 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    305 

to  interest,  as  Antoun  would  have  had  the  power  to  do; 
but  my  vanity  was  not  hurt.  It  was  only  my  curiosity 
which  suffered,  for  I  wanted  desperately  to  know  whether 
the  donkey  had  seriously  jolted  the  lady's  spine,  or 
whether  the  news  that  Sir  M.  A.  Lark  was  Marcus  Anton- 
ius,  not  a  more  obvious  Marcus  Aurelius,  had  fired  her 
imagination. 

In  any  case  I  devoted  myself  to  her  while  Monny  and 
Brigit  frolicked  with  others;  and  I  had  a  reward  of  a  kind. 
When  we  had  seen  all  the  halls  and  chambers,  and  the 
crypt  with  its  carvings  all  fresh  as  if  made  yesterday;  when 
we  had  been  on  the  roof  where  chanting  priests  had  once 
awaited  the  rising  of  Sirius;  when  I  had  taken  her  outside 
the  temple,  where  blowing  columns  of  dusty  sand  rose 
like  incense  from  hidden  altars  of  Hathor,  we  stood  at  last 
alone  together,  gazing  up  at  the  figures  of  Cleopatra  and 
her  son.  The  wall  on  which  they  were  carved  rose  behind 
the  Holy  of  Holies,  where  the  golden  statue  of  the  God- 
dess had  been  kept;  but  alas,  the  figures  themselves! 
Alas!  I  knew  how  Cleopatra  must  be  feeling;  and  I  dared 
not  speak.  Perhaps  she  was  even  blushing:  but  I  did 
not  look.  Instead,  I  gazed  helplessly  up  at  that  exposed, 
misshapen  form,  that  flaccid  chin. 

"Thank  heaven  it's  only  you  who  are  with  me!" 
breathed  Mrs.  East. 

That  was  my  reward.  Or  should  I  call  it  a  punishment? 
Anyhow,  it  made  it  easier  for  the  insignificant  person  in 
question  to  unburden  his  conscience  about  the  hiero- 
glyphic letter.  I  stammered  it  all  out,  on  the  way  back, 
apropos  of  the  rubbish-heap  which  had  been  Tentyra. 
I  let  it  remind  me  of  Fustat  and  our  digging  expedition. 


306  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

I  had  meant  to  follow  Mrs.  East's  advice  and  propose  to 
Miss  Gilder,  I  explained,  but  Monny  had  not  found  my 
buried  love-letter.  What  had  become  of  it  I  —  er  — 
had  never  been  told.  All  I  knew  was  that  it  hadn  't  come 
into  Miss  Gilder's  hands;  and  I  should  never  have  as 
much  courage  again. 

"Oh!"  Cleopatra  exclaimed,  with  a  curious  light  in  her 
eyes,  more  like  relief  than  disappointment.  "You  really 
do  want  to  marry  my  niece?  You  delayed  so,  that  I 
wondered.  I  wasn  't  sure,  sometimes,  if  it  were  Monny  or — 
but  I  am  on  your  side,  Lord  Ernest.  It  isn  't  too  late  yet  for 
any  of  us,  perhaps.  Trust  in  me.  I  'm  going  to  help  you." 

I  could  have  bitten  my  tongue  out,  though  I  had  blun- 
dered with  the  best  intentions.  "Mrs.  East,"  I  protested 
almost  ferociously,  "you  mustn't  do  anything.  I  said 
before  I  began,  that  I  was  going  to  tell  you  a  secret." 

"I  won't  betray  your  confidence.  But  I  will  help. 
I  want  to.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  for  Monny  to  accept 
you,  Lord  Ernest,  a  very  good  thing  in  more  ways  than 
one.  Mrs.  Jones  wants  it  too,  or  did.  I  promise  you, 
I'll  be  discreet." 

With  that,  we  arrived  in  sight  of  the  boat.  Once 
more,  necklaces  and  scarabs  and  baskets  were  thrust 
under  our  noses.  Anthony  had  returned  from  his  mys- 
terious whisperings  in  cafes  or  mosques  in  the  new  town, 
and  was  waiting  for  us.  Cleopatra  called  him,  with  a 
note  of  gayety  in  her  voice,  to  help  her  off  "  the  elephant." 
He  came.  I  felt  she  was  going  to  hint  to  him  that  I  was 
in  love  with  Monny  —  hint  to  Brigit  also. 

Virtue  may  be  its  own  reward,  but  it  makes  you  very 
lonely! 


"IF  AT  FIRST  YOU  DON'T  SUCCEED"    307 

I  hadn't  another  easy  moment  for  dreaming  the  Nile- 
dream.  And  we  all  woke  out  of  it  when,  with  the  pink 
dawn  of  a  certain  morning,  we  saw  a  vast  temple,  re- 
peated column  for  column,  in  the  clear  river,  as  in  a 
mirror  of  glass. 

We  were  at  Luxor;  and  somewhere  not  far  off,  Mabella 
Hanem  was  praying  for  release. 


XX 

THE  ZONE  OF  FIRE 

JUST  at  the  first  moment  of  waking,  when  I  was  moved  by 
my  subconscious  self  to  roll  out  of  my  berth  and  bound  to 
the  cabin  window,  I  forgot  that  we  had  anything  more 
active  to  do  at  Luxor  than  worship  the  glory  of  sky  and 
river  and  temples.  I  had  room  in  my  mind  only  for  the 
dream-beauty  of  that  astounding  picture,  into  the  fore- 
ground of  which  I  seemed  to  have  been  thrust,  so  close 
upon  my  eyes  loomed  the  line  of  lotus  columns.  It  was 
as  if  the  ancient  gods  had  poured  a  libation  of  ruby  wine 
from  their  zenith-dwelling  into  the  translucent  depths  of  the 
Nile.  Even  the  long  colonnade  of  broken  pillars  was  deep 
rose-red  against  a  pale  rose  sky,  repeated  again  in  deeper 
rose  down  in  a  magic  world  beneath  the  pink  crystal  roof 
of  shining  water.  Then,  suddenly,  bright  windows  of  sky 
behind  the  dark  rose-columns  flamed  to  the  colour  of 
primroses,  were  shot  with  pansy  purple,  and  cleared  to  the 
transparent  green  of  unflawed  emerald.  The  thought 
came  as  I  gazed  at  the  carved  wonder  (reflected  flower 
for  flower  and  line  for  line  in  the  still  river)  that  here  was 
illustrated  in  unearthly  beauty  the  chief  religious  legend 
of  ancient  Egypt.  As  each  human  soul  was  believed  to  be 
a  part  of  the  World-Soul,  Osiris,  reunited  with  him  beyond 
the  western  desert,  after  death,  so  did  these  columns  made 

308 


THE  ZONE  OF  FIRE  309 

by  human  hands  unite  themselves  at  sunrise  with  the 
soul  of  the  Nile,  the  life  of  Egypt.  I  caught  a  glimpse  as  if 
in  an  illuminated  parable,  of  the  Egyptian  Cosmos,  the 
Heavens,  the  Earth,  the  Depths,  three  separate  entities, 
yet  forever  one  as  is  the  Christian's  Trinity.  Almost  I 
expected  to  see  the  sun-boat  of  the  gods  steered  slowly 
across  the  river  from  the  city  of  Kings,  westward  to  the 
tombs  of  Kings;  and  the  little  white-breasted  birds,  which 
promenaded  the  deck  of  our  boat  as  though  it  belonged  to 
them,  might  have  been  Heart-birds  from  the  world  of 
mummies  across  the  Nile,  escaped  for  a  glimpse  of  Ram- 
eses'  gayly  painted,  mosaiced  white  palace  with  its  carved 
brass  balconies,  its  climbing  roses,  its  lake  of  lotuses  and 
its  river  gardens.  I  was  sure  that,  if  I  told  these  tiny 
creatures  that  the  Pharaohs  and  all  their  glories  had  van- 
ished off  the  earth  except  for  a  few  bits  in  museums,  they 
would  not  believe  the  tale.  I  wasn't  even  sure  I  believed 
it  myself;  and  deliberately  blotting  out  of  sight  the  big 
modern  hotels  and  the  low  white  line  of  shops  away  to  the 
right  of  the  temple,  I  tried  to  see  with  the  Ba-birds,  east- 
ern Thebes  as  it  must  have  been  in  the  days  of  Rameses  II. 
I  pictured  the  temple  before  Cambyses  the  Persian,  and 
the  great  earthquake  felled  arches  and  pillars,  obelisks 
and  kingly  statues.  I  built  up  again  the  five-story  houses 
of  the  priests  and  nobles,  glistening  white,  and  fantas- 
tically painted  in  many  colours:  I  laid  out  lawns  and 
flower  beds,  and  set  fountains  playing.  Then,  with  a 
rumbling  shock,  a  chasm  many  thousand  years  deep 
yawned  between  me  and  ancient  No,  the  City  of  Palaces: 
It  was  the  voice  of  Sir  John  Biddell  which  opened  the 
ravine  of  time,  and  let  the  Nile  pour  through  it.  He  was 


310  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

on  deck,  in  pyjamas  and  overcoat,  with  General  Harlow, 
holding  forth  on  his  favourite  topic  of  niummies  —  an 
appropriate  subject  for  this  neighbourhood  of  all  others; 
yet,  I  should  have  preferred  silence. 

Poor  Sir  John!  He  had  been  disappointed  in  Cairo 
because  a  villain  had  not  lurked  behind  each  of  the  trees 
in  the  Esbekiya  Gardens,  and  notes  tied  with  silken  black 
hairs  had  not  tumbled  on  his  respectable  bald  head  from 
the  mystery  of  latticed  windows;  but  he  was  thoroughly 
enjoying  his  Nile  trip,  and  learning  something  every  day 
to  tell  at  home.  Lady  Biddell  had  humiliated  him  twice, 
once  by  asking  me  if  "those  old  hieroglyphics  were  writ- 
ten in  Arabic?"  again  by  inquiring  whether  the  stone- 
barred  temple  windows  had  been  "filled  in  once  with 
pretty  stained  glass?"  But  he  had  forgiven  her  because 
yesterday  had  been  their  silver-wedding  day,  and  he 
meant  to  buy  her  a  present  at  some  curiosity-shop  at 
Luxor.  "A  pity  it  isn't  the  wooden  wedding,"  I  heard 
him  say  to  General  Harlow,  "for  I  might  give  a  handsome 
mummy-case.  I  suppose  silver  will  have  to  be  Persian 
or  Indian,  unless  I  can  get  hold  of  one  of  those  old  brace- 
lets or  discs  the  Egyptians  used  for  money:  but  that's 
too  good  to  hope  for." 

It  certainly  was:  though  no  doubt  some  industrious 
manufacturer  of  antiques  would  cheerfully  have  made  and 
dug  up  any  amount  on  the  site  of  Barneses'  palace,  could 
he  have  known  in  time. 

We  were  to  have  three  days  at  Luxor  —  three  days, 
when  three  months  would  have  been  too  little !  —  and  the 
second  attempt  at  abducting  an  ill-used  lady  from  the 
harem  of  her  treacherous  lord  would  take  place  as  soon  as 


THE  ZONE  OF  FIRE  311 

we  could  learn  that  our  auxiliaries,  the  Bronsons,  had 
arrived.  Until  they  were  on  the  spot,  even  a  success 
might  prove  an  anti-climax.  Meanwhile  I  had  plenty  to 
do  in  playing  my  more  obvious  part  of  Conductor,  and 
arranging  the  last  details  of  our  excursion  programme. 
Every  one  had  bundled  out  early  to  see  the  sunrise.  Con- 
sequently most  members  of  the  Set  were  cross  or  hungry, 
or  both.  Nothing  could  be  less  suitable  than  to  clamour 
for  porridge  on  the  Nile,  but  they  did  it,  and  called  for 
bacon,  too,  in  a  land  where  the  pig  is  an  unclean  animal. 
They  were  the  same  people  who  played  "coon  can"  and 
bridge  on  the  deck  at  twilight,  when  moving  figures  on 
shore  were  etched  in  black  on  silver,  or  against  flaming 
wings  of  sunset,  and  in  gathering  darkness  the  blue-robed 
shadoof -men  who  bent  and  rose  against  gold-brown  dykes, 
were  like  Persian  enamels  done  on  copper. 

"Hundred  gated"  Thebes,  the  dwelling  of  Amen-Ra 
whom  Greece  adopted  as  Jupiter- Amon,  used  to  He  on 
both  banks  of  the  Nile;  the  east  for  the  living,  the  west  for 
the  dead  and  those  who  lived  by  catering  for  mummy  hood. 

I  had  arranged  to  take  our  people  first  round  Luxor, 
making  them  acquainted  with  the  temple  which  had  al- 
ready introduced  its  reflection  to  us.  As  for  the  town, 
they  were  capable  of  making  themselves  acquainted  with 
that,  its  hotels  and  curiosity -shops,  when  there  was  nothing 
more  important  on  hand.  Next  was  to  come  Karnak, 
the  "father  of  temples,"  once  connected  with  the  younger 
temple  at  Luxor  as  if  by  a  long  jewelled  necklace  of  ram- 
headed  sphinxes.  And  for  those  whose  brains  and  legs 
were  intact,  by  evening  I  thought  of  a  visit  to  the  thrilling 
temple  of  Mut.  This  last  would  be  an  adventure;  for 


312  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Mut,  goddess  of  matter,  the  Mother  goddess,  has  appar- 
ently not  taken  kindly  to  Moslem  rule.  Any  disagreeable 
trick  she,  and  her  attendant  black  statues  of  passion, 
fierce  Sekhet,  can  play  on  a  devout  Mohammedan,  are 
meat  and  drink  to  her:  but  she  can  work  her  spells  only 
after  dusk,  therefore  none  save  the  bravest  Arab  will  ven- 
ture his  head  inside  her  domain,  past  sunset.  I  was  sure 
we  could  get  no  dragoman  to  go  with  us,  and  equally  sure 
that  the  adventure  would  be  more  popular  for  its  spice  of 
horror. 

The  second  and  third  days  I  allotted  to  western  Thebes, 
the  city  of  the  dead :  the  tombs  of  the  Kings,  the  tombs  of 
the  Queens  and  the  Nobles;  then  the  Ramesseum,  the 
"  Musical  Memnon"  with  his  companion  Colossus,  and  the 
great  temples  wrapped  in  the  ruddy  fire  of  the  western 
desert,  where  Hathor  receives  the  setting  sun  in  out- 
stretched arms. 

As  I  was  about  to  unfold  these  projects  at  breakfast, 
a  telegram  was  handed  to  me.  I  read  it;  and  while  bacon 
plates  were  being  exchanged  for  dishes  of  marmalade,  I 
cudgelled  my  brain  like  a  slave  to  make  it  rearrange  the 
whole  programme  without  a  hitch. 

The  American  Consul  wired  from  Asiut  that  he  was 
detained  by  an  Important  Personage,  who  wanted  to 
know  things  about  Egyptian  Cotton  and  its  enemy  the 
boll  worm.  But  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bronson  would  arrive  at 
the  Villa  Sirius,  Luxor,  day  after  to-morrow,  "ready  for 
emergencies." 

Of  course,  being  Conductor  of  a  tour,  and  next  a  man, 
I  ought  to  have  put  the  interests  of  Sir  Marcus  and  his 
"Lark  Pie"  (as  we  were  called  by  rival  firms)  ahead  of 


THE  ZONE  OF  FIRE  313 

personal  concerns.  I  ought  to  have  immolated  myself  in 
the  western  Mummyland  with  the  consciousness  of  duty 
done,  while  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  Nile,  Anthony  Fen- 
ton  and  Monny  Gilder  and  Biddy  played  the  live,  mod- 
ern game  of  kidnapping  a  lady.  But  I  determined  to  do 
nothing  of  the  sort.  I  gazed  at  the  telegram  with  the  air 
of  committing  to  heart  instructions  from  my  superior 
officer;  and  without  sign  of  inward  tremour,  announced 
that  we  would  explore  the  wonders  of  the  west  before 
visiting  those  nearer  at  hand.  The  weather  being  cool  and 
the  wind  not  too  high  (I  said),  it  would  be  well  to  seize 
this  opportunity  for  the  Valley  of  the  Tombs  of  the  Kings, 
an  expedition  trying  in  heat  or  sand  storms.  To-morrow 
also  would  be  devoted  to  the  west,  and  our  third  day  would 
belong  to  Luxor  and  Karnak.  As  a  bonne  bouche,  I 
dangled  the  adventure  of  the  Temple  of  MM,  to  sweeten 
the  temper  of  grumblers:  but  there  were  no  grumblers. 
The  Set  listened  calmly  to  my  honeyed  plausibilities;  and 
the  alarmed  stewards  dared  not  betray  their  consternation 
at  the  lightning  change. 

No  doubt  they  thought  me  mad,  or  worse,  because  a  day 
in  western  Thebes  meant  a  picnic:  magical  apparition  at 
the  right  moment,  in  a  convenient  tomb,  of  smiling  Arabs 
and  Nubian  men  with  baskets  of  food  and  iced  drinks. 

Somehow  the  trick  had  to  be  managed,  however;  for  I 
must  be  in  eastern  Thebes,  alias  Luxor,  on  the  day  when 
the  Bronsons'  presence  would  render  our  second  attempt 
at  rescue  feasible.  I  had  to  interview  the  chei  —  a  for- 
midable person  —  hypnotizing  him  and  the  stewards  to 
work  my  will,  and  above  all,  I  had  to  make  sure  of  boats 
and  donkeys  for  the  party  at  short  notice.  Only  by  a 


314  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

miracle  «ould  all  go  well;  but  I  set  my  heart  upon  that 
miracle.  "Antoun,"  hurriedly  taken  into  my  confidence, 
volunteered  to  arrange  about  the  boats,  and  the  donkeys 
for  the  other  side.  Fortunately  there  was  no  rival  ahead 
of  us;  and  with  juggling  of  plans  and  jingle  of  silver,  An- 
thony's part  was  done.  Just  at  the  moment  when,  by 
dint  of  bribes  and  adjurations  I  had  induced  chei  and 
stewards  to  smile,  Fenton  dashed  on  board  to  cry  "Vic- 
tory!" Somehow,  less  than  an  hour  later  than  we  should 
have  started,  we  got  off  in  two  big  boats  with  white  sails 
and  brown  rowers.  The  canvas  did  its  work  in  silent, 
bulging  dignity;  but  the  rowers  exhausted  themselves  by 
breathlessly  imploring  Allah  to  grant  them  strength,  and 
shouting  extra  prayers  to  some  sailor-saint  whose  name 
was  calculated  to  pump  dry  the  strongest  lungs. 

On  the  mystic  western  side,  where  once  landed  with 
pomp  and  pageant  the  sun-boat  of  the  gods,  and  the 
mourning  boats  of  the  dead,  we  scrambled  on  shore  with 
that  ribald  mirth  which  always  made  the  Set  feel  it  was 
getting  its  money's  worth  of  enjoyment.  Many  donkeys 
and  a  few  carriages  awaited  us:  the  whole  equipment  pre- 
viously engaged  for  to-morrow!  and  in  opaline  sunshine 
which  stained  with  pale  rose  the  Theban  hills  and  piled 
the  shadows  full  of  dark,  dulled  rubies,  we  started  across 
an  emerald  plain,  kept  ever  verdant  by  Nile  water.  The 
touch  of  comedy  in  the  dream  of  beauty  was  the  queer, 
mud-brick  village  of  Kurna,  with  its  tomb  dwellings  of  the 
poor,  and  immense  mud  vases  shaped  like  mushrooms, 
standing  straight  up  on  thick  brown  stems  before  the 
crowded  hovels.  In  each  vase  reposed  sleeping  babies, 
brooding  hens,  dogs,  rabbits,  or  any  other  live  stock, 


THE  ZONE  OF  FIRE  r>15 

mixed  with  such  rubbish  as  the  family  possessed :  and  the 
most  ambitious  mushrooms  were  decorated  with  barbaric 
crenellations. 

Almost  as  far  as  the  Temple  of  Seti  I  flowed  the  green 
wave  like  a  lake  in  the  desert,  but  beyond,  to  join  the 
Sahara,  rolled  and  billowed  a  waste  of  rose-pink  sand, 
shot  with  topaz  light,  and  walled  with  fantastic  rocks, 
yellow  and  crimson,  streaked  with  purple.  In  the  heart 
of  each  shadow,  fire  burned  like  dying  coals  in  a  mass  of 
rosy  ashes :  and  the  light  over  all  was  luminous  as  light  on 
southern  seas  at  moonrise  and  sunset.  Before  our  eyes 
seemed  to  float  a  diaphanous  veil  of  gilded  gauze;  and 
white  robes  and  red  sashes  of  donkey-boys,  animals' 
bead  necklaces,  and  blue  or  green  scarfs  on  girls'  hats,  were 
like  magical  flowers  blowing  over  the  gold  of  the  desert. 

Everything  blew:  above  all,  sand  blew.  We  found  that 
out  to  our  sorrow,  after  we  had  seen  the  Temple  of  Kurna, 
with  its  noble  columns,  and  its  fine  fragment  of.  roof, 
where  squares  of  sky  were  let  in  like  blocks  of  lapis 
lazuli.  I  rushed  here  and  there  on  donkey-back  assuring 
people  that  this  was  not  wind  we  felt :  it  was  only  a  breeze. 
We  could  not  have  a  more  favourable  day  for  our  excursion 
into  this  world  of  the  dead.  Why,  if  we'd  waited  till  to- 
morrow we  might  have  met  a  real  wind,  perhaps  even 
Khamsin,  alias  Simoom,  the  terror  of  the  desert.  To 
make  Miss  Hassett-Bean  and  Cleopatra  forget  the  smart- 
ing of  their  eyes,  I  told  them  what  a  truersand-storm  was 
like,  and  how  its  names  in  Arabic,  Turkish,  and  Persian 
all  came  from  the  fiend  "Samiel,"  who  destroyed  caravans, 
just  as  "devil"  came  from  the  Persian  "div."  Our  little 
breeze  was  from  the  east,  which  at  Thebes  in  old  days  was 


316  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

considered  lucky.  The  west  wind  used  to  bear  across 
the  river  evil  spirits  disguised  as  sand-clouds.  And  these 
wicked  ones  had  not  far  to  travel,  because  the  Tuat,  or 
Underworld,  was  a  long  narrow  valley  parallel  to  Egypt, 
beginning  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Nile.  Red-haired  Set 
was  ruler  there,  the  god  who  had  to  be  propitiated  by 
having  kings  named  after  him.  But  Ra,  greater  than  he, 
could  safely  pass  down  the  dim  river  running  through 
that  world:  could  pass  in  his  golden  sun-boat,  guided  by 
magic  words  of  Thoth  instead  of  oars  or  sails;  and  the 
guardian  hippopotamus  (whom  Greeks  turned  into  the 
dog  Cerberus)  dared  not  put  out  a  paw. 

Mrs.  East  remembered  that  Thebes  was  Tape  in  "her 
day,"  at  which  Miss  Hassett-Bean  snorted :  and  when  out 
came  that  familiar  story  about  Cleopatra  making  red 
hair  fashionable,  Miss  Hassett-Bean  stared  coldly  at  the 
lady's  auburn  waves.  "I  wonder  if  the  queen  got  the 
colour  at  her  hairdresser's,  as  people  do  now?"  she  mur- 
mured. "I've  read  that  they  had  beauty-doctors  in  those 
days,  and  used  arsenic  for  their  complexion,  and  all  sorts 
of  mixtures.  Besides,  I  can't  imagine  anything  natural 
about  Cleopatra,  except  the  asp  wanting  to  bite  her!" 
Upon  this,  Mrs.  East  retaliated  by  calling  her  companion 
Miss  Bean  without  the  Hassett. 

I  shall  always  think  of  the  Valley  of  the  Tombs  as  a 
place  of  terror  and  splendour,  meant  to  be  hidden  from 
mortals  by  the  spells  of  Thoth,  who  circled  the  rock- 
houses  of  the  dead  with  a  zone  of  fire,  as  Wotan  hid 
Brunhilda,  and  decreed  that  they  should  be  lost  forever 
in  the  blazing  desert.  Despite  Thoth  and  his  magic,  men 
have  burst  through  the  blazing  belt  and  found  in  the  gold- 


THE  ZONE  OF  FIRE  317 

rose  heart  of  the  rocks,  sacred  shrines  the  wise  old  god 
would  have  protected.  They  have  found  many  but  not 
all:  for  in  the  breast  of  some  one  among  Thoth's  sleeping 
lions  which  masquerade  as  rocks,  may  yet  be  discovered 
a  tomb,  better  than  all  those  we  know  with  their  buried 
store  of  jewels,  and  their  painted  walls  like  drapings  of 
strange  tapestry. 

We  broke  through  the  zone  of  fire,  and  it  pursued  us 
with  burning  smoke  of  sand,  pink  as  powdered  rubies. 
Always  it  was  beautiful  and  terrible  as  we  rode  in  the 
blowing  pink  mist:  and  still  it  was  beautiful  and  terrible, 
when  half  dazed  we  slipped  off  donkeys  or  slid  out  of  car- 
riages, to  enter  the  tombs  which  the  desert  had  vainly 
striven  to  hide.  It  was  hot  and  breathless  in  those  under- 
ground chambers,  scooped  out  of  solid  rock  thousands 
of  years  ago,  that  great  kings  and  their  queens  and 
families  and  friends  might  rest  with  their  kas  in  eternal 
privacy.  Enid  Biddell  waited  until  Harry  Snell  hap- 
pened to  be  exactly  behind  her,  and  then  fainted,  with 
dexterity  beyond  praise.  Cleopatra,  however,  was  in  her 
element.  She  felt  at  home,  and  did  not  turn  one  of  those 
auburn  hairs  scorned  by  "Miss  Bean,"  at  sight  of  the 
royal  mummies  lit  up  by  electricity  in  their  coffins.  These 
gave  the  rest  of  us  a  shock,  our  nerves  being  already  in  the 
condition  of  Aladdin's  on  his  way  down  to  the  Cave  of 
Jewels.  When  the  guardian  of  the  Tomb  of  Amenhetep 
(the  king  had  several  other  names,  which  annoyed  Sir  John 
Biddell)  darkened  the  painted,  royal  chamber  of  death, 
and  suddenly  lit  up  several  white,  sleeping  faces,  the 
ghostly  dusk  was  alive  with  little  gasps.  There  lay 
Amenhetep  himself,  in  a  disproportionately  large  sar- 


318 

cophagus  of  rose-red  granite  from  Suan;  and  in  companion 
coffins  were  a  woman  and  a  girl,  all  three  brilliantly 
illuminated.  They  had  the  look  of  the  light  hurting  their 
poor  eyes,  and  being  outraged  because,  against  their  will, 
they  were  treated  as  if  they  had  been  paintings  by  old 
masters. 

The  dreadful  rumour  ran  that  the  woman  was  none 
other  than  the  great  Queen  Hatasu  (never  mind  her  more 
scientific  names),  her  mummy  never  having  been  found, 
or,  at  any  rate,  identified:  and  it  was  pitiful  seeing  her 
so  small  and  female,  when  in  life  she  had  wished  to  be  rep- 
resented with  a  beard  and  the  clothing  of  a  man.  Our 
dragoman,  who  read  English  newspapers  and  whose  idea 
of  entertaining  his  crowd  was  to  make  cheap  jokes  (just 
as  his  family  doubtless  manufactured  cheap  scarabs), 
announced  that  Hatasu  was  the  "first  suffragette."  But 
even  those  who  thought  her  downtrodden  nephew,  Tho- 
thmes  III,  justified  in  erasing  every  trace  of  her  existence 
wherever  possible,  did  not  smile  at  this  jest.  In  fact, 
having  Antoun  and  me  to  refer  .to,  the  Set  as  a  whole  sat 
upon  the  unfortunate  dragoman,  trying  to  talk  him  down 
in  tombs  and  temples,  or  ostentatiously  reading  Weigall, 
Maspero,  Petrie,  Sladen,  and  Lorimer  when  he  attempted 
to  give  them  information.  A  few  with  kinder  intentions, 
however,  interrupted  his  flow  of  historical  narrative  by 
exclaiming,  "Why,  yes,  of  course!"  "I  thought  so!"  and 
"Now  I  remember!"  He  revenged  himself  by  advising 
everybody  to  buy  antiques  from  an  extraordinary  old 
gentleman,  extremely  like  a  galvanized  mummy.  The 
antiques  were  extraordinary,  too,  so  everybody  took  the 
dragoman's  advice,  neglecting  the  other  curiosity  mer- 


THE  ZONE  OF  FIRE  319 

chants  of  the  squatting  row  near  the  luncheon-tomb  and 
the  glorious  three-tier  temple,  in  that  vast  copper  cup  of 
desert  and  cliff  which  is  called  Der  el-Bahari.  The  sale 
in  mummied  hawks,  gilded  rams'  horns,  broken  tiles  with 
beetles  flying  out  of  the  sun,  boats  of  the  gods,  and  gods 
themselves,  was  brisk  round  this  ancient  gentleman,  who 
advertised  a  blue  mummy-cap  by  wearing  it  on  his  bald 
pate,  and  seemed  to  possess  as  many  royal  scarabs  as  a 
dressmaker  has  pins.  Afterward  I  learned  that  he  was 
our  dragoman's  father;  but  I  was  loyal  and  did  not  tell. 

It  was  a  wonderful  day,  all  the  more  wonderful  perhaps 
because  it  left  in  the  mind  a  colourful  confusion;  pictures 
of  painted  tombs  hidden  deep  under  red  rock  and  drifted 
sand,  tombs  which  we  should  perhaps  never  reach  again 
through  their  guarding  zone  of  fire  —  tombs  of  kings  and 
queens  and  nobles  forgotten  through  thousands  of  cen- 
turies save  by  their  kas  and  bas,  their  friends  and  ser- 
vants, painted  or  sculptured  on  the  walls  with  the  sole 
purpose  of  caring  for  or  entertaining  them  eternally. 

Already  we  had  ceased  to  remember  which  was  which. 
And  back  on  the  boat,  in  the  hour  of  sunset,  when  dazzling 
tinsel  and  pale  pink  cloud-flowers  sailed  over  a  lake  of 
clear  green  sky,  the  Set  argued  whether  the  King  with  the 
Horses,  or  the  Queen  with  the  Retrousse  Nose  was  in  this 
or  that  tomb.  Sir  John  Biddell  recalled  the  fact  that 
Egyptian  horses  had  been  celebrated,  and  that  it  was 
"as  swell  a  thing  to  be  a  charioteer  then  as  it  was  now  to 
be  a  Vanderbilt  with  a  coach  and  four."  As  for  a  retrousse 
nose,  it  didn't  matter  where  it  was,  on  a  tomb-wall  or  on 
a  girl's  face. 

Monny  thought  differently.     She  and  Biddy  were  glad 


320  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

that  the  sand  and  rocks  would  still  hide  many  secret 
treasures,  while  the  world  lasted.  It  would  be  dreadful 
to  think  that  everything  was  dug  up,  for  tourists  to  pry 
into,  or  to  cart  away  to  museums,  and  no  mysteries  left. 
As  for  Mrs.  East,  she  was  doubtful  whether  to  rejoice  or 
grieve  that  Cleopatra's  mummy  had  not  been  found. 
If,  however,  it  were  like  the  incised  wall  portrait  at  Den- 
derah,  it  would  be  well  that  it  should  share  the  fate  of 
Alexander's  body  and  remain  lost  forever. 

The  next  day  gave  us  another  trip  to  the  west  of  the 
Nile :  not  again  in  the  burning  desert,  but  only  as  far  as  the 
Ramesseum,  and  then  to  see  the  Colossi,  seated  side  by 
side  on  their  green  carpet  of  meadow,  looking  out  past 
the  centuries  toward  eternity. 

We  had  a  dance  on  board  that  night;  and  next  morning 
it  came  out  that  Rachel  Guest,  who  had  disappeared  dur- 
ing a  "turkey  trot"  and  a  "castle  walk,"  had  got  herself 
engaged  to  Bailey.  I  was  not  as  pleased  about  this  event 
as  was  Enid  Biddell,  who  now  saw  her  "title  clear"  to 
Harry  Snell;  for  I  had  "bagged"  Willis  Bailey  and  Neill 
Sheridan  for  Sir  Marcus  in  order  to  gain  Kudos  for  myself: 
but  Biddy,  appealed  to,  consoled  me  by  saying  it  served 
Bailey  right  if  he  were  mercenary:  and  that  both  men 
would  have  come  in  any  case. 

The  third  day  was  to  be  the  Great  Day  for  us,  the  day 
big  with  fate  for  Mabella  Hanem;  and  the  first  thing  that 
happened  was  a  letter  sent  by  hand  from  the  Bronsons 
at  the  Villa  Sirius.  They  had  arrived.  The  fireworks 
could  begin. 


XXI 
THE  OPENING  DOOR 

NOT  half  an  hour  after  the  first  word  from  Bronson,  came 
another  hurried  note.  An  unexpected  obstacle  had 
cropped  up.  So  confident  had  he  and  Mrs.  Bronson  been 
of  their  friends'  cooperation,  that  rather  than  put  such 
important  matters  on  paper,  they  had  waited  to  explain 
by  word  of  motith.  The  owner  of  the  villa  was  a  rich 
Syrian  with  a  French-American  wife.  He  was  a  Copt 
in  religion,  hating  Mohammedanism  in  general  and  the 
father  of  Rechid  Bey  in  particular.  This  had  seemed  to 
the  American  Consul  a  providential  combination:  but  to 
his  disgust  he  found  that  there  had  been  a  reconciliation 
between  the  families.  Dimitrius  Nekean  would  not  be- 
tray the  Bronsons'  confidence,  but  he  could  not  allow  his 
roof  to  be  used  as  a  shelter  for  Rechid's  runaway  wife  — 
no,  not  even  if  Rechid  had  three  other  wives  in  his 
harem. 

Here  was  a  situation!  And  as  Monny  remarked,  in 
neat  American  slang,  we  were  "right  up  against  it."  She 
thought  that,  if  Antoun  and  I  "put  our  heads  together," 
maybe  we  could  think  of  "some  way  out."  So  we  did, 
almost  literally  put  our  heads  together  across  a  table  no 
bigger  than  a  handkerchief,  in  my  cabin:  and  decided  that 
the  visit  to  Rechid  Bey's  harem  must  be  made  by  Brigit 

321 


322  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

and  Monny  in  the  late  afternoon.  They  must  time  their 
departure  from  the  house  at  about  the  hour  when  the  Set 
would  arrive  at  the  Temple  of  Mut.  "Antoun"  would  be 
waiting  for  them,  and  they  would  drive  in  a  closed  ara- 
beah  to  the  temple,  where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bronson  would 
happen  to  be  "sightseeing."  If  Mabella  Hanem  had 
been  rescued,  she  would  then  be  put  in  charge  of  the 
American  Consul,  whose  very  footprints  created  American 
soil  around  him  as  far  as  his  shoes  could  reach.  Rechid 
would  be  unlikely  to  search  at  the  Temple  of  Mut,  nor 
could  he  induce  any  Arab  servant  to  accompany  him  there 
after  sundown.  We  would  escort  Mabel  and  her  two 
protectors  to  the  town,  and  to  the  train  for  Cairo,  Mr. 
Bronson  promising  to  take  the  girl  to  Alexandria,  whence 
she  could  sail  for  "home." 

It  was  the  best  plan  we  could  think  of  in  the  circum- 
stances, and  Monny  approved  it,  though  her  patience  was 
tried  by  having  to  wait  through  nearly  all  of  another  day. 
Mabel  must  have  begun  to  believe  that  we  had  ignored 
her  prayer  and  meant  to  do  nothing.  I  argued  that  the 
girl  would  believe  we  were  working  for  her  in  our  own  way. 
I  said,  too,  that  if  Rechid  were  spying,  his  suspicions  would 
be  disarmed  by  seeing  us  go  the  ordinary  round  of  tourists. 
Every  one  came  to  Luxor.  We  had  come,  leisurely,  by 
river,  and  were  sightseeing  every  moment.  Even  Bedr,  if 
he  were  on  the  spot,  intending  to  finish  his  revenge  as 
neatly  as  it  had  been  begun,  could  have  noticed  nothing 
suspicious  in  our  actions.  The  mention  of  Bedr  in  this  con- 
nection seemed  to  startle  Biddy,  and  I  was  sorry  I  had  let 
his  name  slip.  But,  as  I  had  saidt  every  one  came  to 
Luxor.  Bedr  had  with  apparent  frankness  explained  that 


THE  OPENING  DOOR,  323 

he  was  travelling  up  the  Nile  by  rail  with  his  two  clients: 
and  if  that  were  true,  he  would  arrive  at  all  our  destina- 
tions in  advance  of  us.  Probably  it  would  depend  on 
"the  clients"  whether  they  lingered  at  Luxor  long  enough 
for  us  to  run  across  them  again. 

"What  are  you  afraid  of,"  I  asked  Biddy  when  I  had 
a  chance  with  her  alone,  "even  if  Bedr  is  a  spy?  Surely 
you  kept  your  promise  and  left  that  chamois-skin  bag  in 
a  Cairo  bank?" 

"It  wasn't  a  promise,"  she  reminded  me.  "I  only  said 
I'd  think  about  it.  Well,  I  did  think  about  it,  and  I 
couldn't  put  it  in  a  bank.  I  told  you  it  was  the  sort  of 
thing  one  doesn't  put  in  banks." 

"You  didn't  tell  me  what  it  was  —  I  mean,  what  was 
in  it  besides  money." 

"No,  I  couldn't." 

"Will  you  now?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  Well,  then,  will  you  give  it  to  me  to  keep  till  we  get 
back  to  Cairo?" 

"No,  indeed!  But  Duffer  dear,  honestly  and  truly  it 
isn't  for  myself  I'm  afraid.  You  know  that,  don't  you?" 

"Of  course.  Yet  if  people  are  believing  that  Monny 
Gilder  is  Rachel  Guest,  a  poor  little  school  teacher,  then 
no  one  who  heard  the  gossip  would  bother  to  risk  kid- 
napping her  for  ransom.  And,  also,  there'll  be  no  further 
danger  of  those  you  fear  mistaking  her  for " 

"Oh,  don't  speak  the  name!" 

"I  wasn't  going  to.  I  was  merely  about  to  use  the 
word  'another.' ' 

"Good  Duffer!     Yours  is  a  consoling  argument.     Still, 


324  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

I  never  liked  Bedr  or  wanted  him  with  us.  And  even  now, 
there  seems  something  mysterious  about  Rachel  thinking 
so  much  of  him.  As  if  there  were  a  secret  arrangement 
between  them,  you  know !  I've  never  got  over  that,  or 
understood  it  a  bit." 

"He  flattered  Miss  Guest,  perhaps.  She  loves  flattery. 
But  she's  made  her  market  now,  and  all  through  Monny's 
charity.  She  couldn't  want  to  do  her  benefactress  harm." 

"No-o,  I  suppose  not.  Unless  it  were  to  do  herself 
good.  Don't  those  eyes  of  hers  say  to  you  that  she'd 
sacrifice  any  one  for  herself?  " 

"I've  been  thinking  more  about  a  different  pair  of 
eyes.  And  there  were  such  a  lot  of  men  crowding  round 
Rachel's  —  for  some  reason  or  other." 

"Now  we  know  what  the  reason  was  —  as  she  and 
Monny  must  have  known  all  along,  since  their  joke  to- 
gether began.  Oughtn't  you  to  tell  Bill  Bailey  the  truth?" 

"No,  my  dear  girl,  I  must  draw  the  line  somewhere! 
I've  gone  about  at  people's  beck  and  call,  telling  other 
people  disagreeable  truths,  till  I'm  a  physical  and  mental 
wreck.  Bill  Bailey  knows  all  about  statues,  with  and 
without  glass  eyes.  Let  him  find  out  for  himself  about  a 
mere  girl " 

"With  cat's  eyes."     Biddy  snapped. 

If  one  triumph  leads  to  another,  Anthony  could  afford 
to  be  hopeful  for  the  ending  of  our  stay  at  Luxor.  He  had 
not  done  as  much  sightseeing  as  the  rest  of  us,  but  when 
we  had  been  asleep  in  our  beds  or  berths,  dreaming  of 
temples  —  or  of  each  other  —  he  had  been  out  whispering 
and  listening,  in  places  where  his  green  turban  opened 


THE  OPENING  DOOR  325 

doors  and  hearts.  He  had  traced  the  mysterious  "  trouble  " 
to  its  source,  and  learned  the  inner  history  of  that 
regrettable  incident  which,  like  a  dropped  match,  had  lit 
a  fire  hard  to  extinguish.  A  party  of  young  men  travel- 
ling with  a  "bear  leader"  had  laughed  at  some  Arabs  pros- 
trating themselves  to  pray,  at  that  sacred  moment,  just 
after  sunset,  ordained  by  Mohammed  lest  his  people 
should  appear  to  worship  the  orb  itself.  One  of  these 
youths,  fancying  himself  a  mimic,  had  imitated  the 
Moslems.  They  were  old  men,  unable  to  resent  with  vio- 
lence what  they  thought  an  insult  to  their  religion;  but 
they  had  told  their  sons,  and  the  story  had  spread.  Later 
that  night  the  joyous  tourists  with  their  near-sighted 
"bear  leader,"  had  been  attacked  apparently  without 
reason,  on  coming  out  of  a  native  cafe.  Having  forgotten 
the  sunset  prayer,  they  honestly  believed  that  they  had 
been  set  upon  by  men  to  whom  they  had  given  no  prov- 
ocation. They  had  uttered  statements  and  complaints; 
and  disgusted  with  the  "beastly  natives"  had  put  sued 
their  journey  up  Nile,  visiting  their  grievances  on  the 
innocent,  and  making  more  mischief  at  each  stopping 
place.  Murmured  threats,  with  dark  looks,  insulting 
words  and  jostlings  of  strangers  by  the  inhabitants  of 
Upper  Nile  villages,  had  occasioned  anxiety  at  the  British 
Agency.  It  had  proved  impossible  to  get  at  the  truth, 
and  the  influence  of  the  Young  Nationalists  had  been  sug- 
gested. Our  Hadji  had  now  turned  the  green  light  of  his 
sacred  turban  upon  obscurity,  and  those  in  power  at  Cairo 
would  know  how  to  set  about  repairing  damages.  In  spite 
of  private  anxieties,  those  which  I  shared  and  others 
which  I  didn't  share  but  suspected,  I  think  Anthony  was 


326  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

happy  on  that  third  morning  at  Luxor.  He  must  have 
been  tired,  for  much  of  his  work  had  been  night  work,  but 
he  showed  no  fatigue.  The  true  soldier-look  was  in  his 
eyes,  the  look  I  knew  far  better  than  the  new  and  strange 
expression  which  had  said  to  me  lately,  "A  woman  has 
come  to  be  of  importance  in  Anthony  Fenton's  life." 
We  spent  our  morning  and  a  good  part  of  the  afternoon 
at  Karnak,  lunching  irreverently  but  agreeably  in  the 
shade  of  fallen  pillars  Cambyses  or  the  great  earthquake 
had  thrown  down.  Neill  Sheridan,  who  had  been  to  Cali- 
fornia, likened  the  ruddy  columns  of  the  Great  Hall  to  the 
giant  redwoods.  He  was  enjoying  Karnak  because  there 
was  practically  nothing  "modern  and  Ptolemaic  about  it," 
but  I  thought  how  quickly  he  would  lose  this  calmness  of 
the  student  if  some  one  blurted  out  a  word  about  our 
plan  for  that  evening.  According  to  Monny,  he  had  been 
"taken"  with  poor  Mabella  Hanem  on  board  the  Laconia 
—  admiring  her  so  frankly  thajt  Rechid  had  banished  his 
bride  to  her  cabin.  If  Sheridan  regretted  her,  as  a  man 
regrets  a  woman  vainly  loved,  he  had  confided  in  no  one, 
not  even  Monny,  who  had  risked  seeming  to  seek  his  so- 
ciety in  order  to  reach  the  secret  of  his  heart.  He  had, 
however,  been  graver  in  manner  than  at  first,  so  said  the 
girl,  who  had  been  much  with  him  before  my  appearance 
on  the  scene.  Whether  it  was  intuition,  or  sheer  love  of 
romance  which  inclined  her  to  the  opinion,  she  believed 
that  Sheridan  was  unhappy.  It  would  make  things  worse 
for  Mabel  (if  our  scheme  failed)  were  Neill  Sheridan  mixed 
up  in  the  plot;  therefore,  even  impulsive  Monny  admitted 
the  wisdom  of  keeping  him  out  of  it.  But  I  could  see  by 
the  way  she  looked  at  him  —  almost  pityingly  —  when 


THE  OPENING  DOOR  327 

he  discoursed  of  lotus  and  papyrus  columns,  how  she  was 
saying  to  herself:  "You  poor  fellow,  if  only  you  knew! " 

The  "thing  "  being  to  see  the  Temple  of  Luxor  at  sunset, 
we  gave  it  the  afternoon,  as  if  condescending  to  do  it  a 
favour.  When  I  remembered  how  I  had  meant  to  linger 
here  week  after  week,  I  felt  that  I  was  paying  a  big  price 
for  my  share  of  the  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid, 
making  a  knock-about  comedian  of  myself,  rushing 
through  halls  of  history  followed  by  a  procession  of  tour- 
ists, as  a  comet  tears  past  the  best  worth  seeing  stars, 
obediently  followed  by  its  tail.  Still,  I  had  Brigit  and 
Monny  as  bright  spots  in  the  tail;  and  my  old  dreams  of 
Luxor  had  been  empty  of  them. 

These  ideas  were  in  my  mind,  while  on  donkeys  and  in 
arabeahs  we  dashed  as  if  our  lives  depended  on  speed,  from 
the  Temple  of  Karnak  to  the  Temple  of  Luxor,  along  the 
dusty  white  road  trimmed  with  sphinxes.  This  descrip- 
tion was  Enid  Biddell's,  she  being  happy  and  therefore 
frivolous.  She  rode  with  Harry  Snell,  as  queens  may  have 
ridden  along  that  way,  guarding  a  captive  prince  who  had 
been  subdued  forever. 

Sunset  illumined  the  world,  as  for  a  New  Year's  fes- 
tival of  Amen-Ra  in  his  ruby -studded  boat  of  gold,  when 
we  were  ready  to  leave  the  glorious  temple,  and  turn  to 
the  region  of  little  bazaars  and  big  hotels,  fair  gardens, 
and  girls  with  tennis  rackets  whose  shape  reminded  our 
Egypt-steeped  minds  of  the  key  of  life.  Monny  and  Brigit 
had  slipped  away.  Their  real  day  was  just  beginning. 

My  heart  was  with  them ;  Anthony's,  too,  and  his  work 
permitted  him  to  conduct  his  heart  along  the  way  that 
they  must  take,  while  I  had  to  conduct  the  Set  to  the  Win- 
ter Palace  Hotel,  and  give  them  tea  on  the  terrace. 


328  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

When  everybody  was  rested  and  had  had  enough  straw- 
berry tarts,  view  and  flirtation,  we  were  to  make  for  the 
Temple  of  Mut:  and,  having  returned  at  last  to  the  En- 
chantress Isis,  were  to  steam  away  just  as  tourist  boats 
and  dahabeahs  were  lighting  up  along  the  shore.  We 
were  to  dine  late,  after  starting,  and  anchor  in  some  dark 
solitude,  so  as  to  enjoy  a  peaceful,  dogless  night  on  the 
Nile.  But  —  what  would  have  happened  to  Brigit  and 
Monny  before  the  sounding  of  that  dinner  gong? 

What  did  happen  at  the  beginning  I  must  tell  as  best  I 
can,  because  I  was  not  there,  and  can  speak  for  myself  only 
from  the  Temple  of  Mut. 

When  they  stole  almost  secretly  away  from  Karnak, 
they  took  an  arabeah  which  was  waiting  and  drove  to  the 
sugar-plantation  of  Rechid  Bey.  This  place  of  his  is  not 
prepared  for  a  lengthy  or  luxurious  residence;  but  as  I 
have  said,  there  is  a  house.  There  is  also  a  small  gate- 
house, in  a  somewhat  neglected  condition;  but  a  gate- 
keeper was  there:  the  usual  stout  negro.  Monny  and 
Biddy  were  quivering  with  fear  lest  they  should  be  refused 
admission,  as  at  Asiut:  but  this  time  their  coachman  was 
Ahmed  Antoun,  carefully  disguised  as  a  common  driver  of 
an  arabeah,  a  rather  exaggeratedly  common  driver  per- 
haps, for  his  face  and  turban  were  not  as  clean  as  the  face 
and  turban  of  a  self-respecting  Moslem  ought  to  be.  He 
had  been  helped  to  play  this  trick  by  one  of  the  secret 
friends  he  had  made  in  some  cafe  or  other,  the  cousin  of  an 
uncle  of  a  brother  of  him  who  should  have  sat  on  the  box 
seat.  But  the  motive  he  had  alleged  was  not  the  real  one. 
The  two  beating  hearts  in  the  arabeah  had  confidence  in 
him.  If  the  gatekeeper  tried  to  send  them  away,  Antoun 


THE  OPENING  DOOR  329 

would  bribe  him,  or  threaten  him  with  black  magic,  or  say 
some  strange  word  which  would  be  for  them  as  an  "Open 
Sesame." 

The  fat  creature  at  the  gate  had  no  French,  but  the 
driver  of  the  arabeah  addressed  him  in  Arabic,  and  trans- 
lated his  answers.  Yes,  the  great  lady  had  come  hither 
with  her  husband  the  Bey.  Word  should  go  to  her.  It 
should  be  ascertained  whether  it  was  her  pleasure  to  re- 
ceive these  friends  who  had  journeyed  from  a  far  country 
to  pay  her  a  visit. 

Monny  and  Brigit  sat  in  the  arabeah  to  wait,  but  they 
dared  not  talk  to  the  dirty-faced  driver,  lest  some  spy 
should  be  on  the  watch,  where  every  group  of  flowering 
plants  might  have  ears  and  eyes.  Even  if  the  big  gate- 
keeper came  back  with  an  excuse,  as  seemed  too  probable, 
there  was  hope  from  Antoun's  diplomacy;  but  the  chances 
were  two  to  one  against  success.  Rechid  Bey  had  almost 
certainly  been  put  upon  his  guard  by  the  revengeful  Bedr 
who  had  shown  himself  all  grinning  friendliness  to  us. 
Rechid  might  have  tired  of  playing  dragon,  as  Antoun 
prophesied;  yet  it  would  be  strange  if  he  had  not  given 
instructions  that  no  European  ladies  were  to  visit  his  wife. 
Mabeila  Hanem  had  been  snatched  in  haste  from 
Asiut,  but  if  she  were  still  in  Luxor  with  her  husband,  she 
and  her  women  in  the  harem  would  be  guarded  by  eu- 
nuchs, as  in  the  more  ambitious  villa  which  Rechid  called 
his  home. 

I  suppose  Anthony,  slouching  on  the  box  seat  in  his 
unattractive  disguise,  must  have  been  as  much  astonished 
as  Monny  and  Brigit  when  the  gatekeeper  returned  with 
another  big  negro  to  say  that  the  ladies  would  be  welcomed 


330  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

by  Mabella  Hanem.  The  two  girls  were  wildly  delighted. 
JFenton's  emotions  were  mixed.  He  wanted  to  save  the 
American  bride  from  the  consequences  of  her  tragic  mistake, 
but  he  cared  more  for  his  friends'  safety  than  for  hers. 

He  knew  that  Monny  and  Brigit  were  brave,  and  that 
Monny  had  his  Browning,  but  the  thought  that  she  might 
need  to  use  it  could  not  have  made  him  comfortable  on  the 
box  seat  of  his  borrowed  arabeah,  outside  Rechid's  gate.  It 
was  arranged  that  he  should  give  Mabel's  visitors  one 
hour,  thus  allowing  for  delays  and  emergencies;  but  if  they 
did  not  appear  at  the  end  of  that  time,  he  would  dash  off  to 
tell  the  Luxor  police  that  two  ladies  were  detained  against 
their  will  in  the  house  of  Rechid  Bey. 

Once  in  charge  of  the  chief  eunuch,  who  had  come  to 
take  them  to  the  harem,  Brigit  and  Monny  might  almost 
as  well  have  been  deaf  and  dumb.  Brigit  knew  practi- 
cally nothing  of  Arabic;  and  Monny,  though  she  had  been 
vaguely  studying  since  her  arrival,  had  been  too  passion- 
ately occupied  with  other  things  to  give  much  time  or 
attention  to  the  language  of  Egypt's  invaders.  Her  blood 
was  beating  in  her  veins  now,  and  she  could  think  of  no 
words  except  "Imshi!"  "Malish!"  and  "Ma'salama!" 
These  buzzed  in  her  head,  like  persistent  flies,  as  she  and 
Biddy  followed  their  silent,  white-robed  and  turbaned 
conductor  along  a  narrow  pink  path,  toward  a  modern 
villa  almost  shrouded  with  bougainvillia.  And  they  were 
the  last  words  she  needed.  She  didn't  want  to  tell  the 
ponderous  negro  to  "get  out."  On  the  contrary,  she 
wished  to  be  polite.  So  far  from  saying  "no  matter," 
everything  mattered  intensely.  And,  unfortunately,  it 
was  not  time  yet  to  bid  the  creature  "farewell." 


THE  OPENING  DOOR  331 

Behind  the  white  house  with  its  crimson  embroidery  of 
flowers,  rose  a  thick  growth  of  tall  sugar-cane,  the  shim- 
mering green  pale  as  beryl,  in  the  dreaming  light  which, 
precedes  sunset.  The  dark  red  of  the  bougainvillia  looked 
like  streaming  blood  against  such  a  background. 

Though  the  villa  appeared  to  be  comparatively  new,  it 
was  built  according  to  Turkish,  not  European  ideas,  as  it 
might  have  been  were  the  owner  a  Copt  instead  of  a 
Mohammedan.  The  building  was  in  two  parts,  entirely 
separating  the  selamlik  from  the  haremlik.  The  latter 
was  small  and  insignificant  compared  with  the  former,  for 
this  was  not  a  place  prepared  for  family  life :  it  was  but  a 
temporary  dwelling,  where  the  master  would  more  often 
come  alone  than  with  the  ladies  of  his  harem. 

The  eunuch  opened  a  door  leading  into  the  women's 
building,  and  Brigit  and  Monny  entered  the  same  secre- 
tive sort  of  vestibule  they  must  have  remembered  in  the 
House  of  the  Crocodile.  A  screen-wall  prevented  them 
from  seeing  what  was  beyond;  and  the  dead  silence  fright- 
ened them  a  little,  so  easy  was  it  to  make  of  this  place  a 
trap. 

In  the  vestibule  was  a  long,  cheaply  cushioned  bench, 
the  resting-place  of  the  women's  custodian;  and  upon  it 
lay  spread  open  the  eunuch's  well-used  koran,  which 
he  had  deserted  to  meet  the  visitors.  Who  had  given  him 
the  order  to  go,  and  why  it  had  been  given,  the  guests  be- 
gan to  ask  themselves. 

Beyond  the  screen-wall  they  entered  an  anteroom. 
Through  a  big  window-door  they  could  look  into  a  small, 
grassy  court  that  served  as  a  garden:  and  opening  from 
the  anteroom  was  a  second  room  much  larger,  which  also 


332  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

gave  upon  the  garden  court.  At  the  door  of  this,  the 
eunuch  bowed  himself  away;  but  an  involuntary  glance 
which  Monny  threw  at  him  over  her  shoulder  showed  that 
he  was  grinning.  The  grin  died  quickly  as  a  white  flash 
of  heat-lightning  fades  from  a  black  night-sky :  but  though 
the  heavy  face  composed  itself  respectfully,  there  re- 
mained a  disquieting  twinkle  in  the  full-lidded  eyes.  It 
struck  Monny  that  the  negro  was  amusing  himself  at  the 
expense  of  the  visitors,  because  of  something  he  knew 
which  they  did  not  know. 

"We're  not  going  to  be  allowed  to  see  Mabel!"  she 
thought,  with  a  jump  of  her  pulses;  and  even  when  a 
negress,  smiling  invitingly,  beckoned  her  and  Biddy  into 
the  large  room  whose  three  windows  looked  on  the  garden, 
she  still  believed  that  they  had  been  deceived.  She  did 
not,  however,  speak  out  her  conviction  to  Brigit.  Noth- 
ing could  be  done  yet.  They  must  wait  and  see  what 
would  happen. 

The  room  was  furnished  in  abominable  taste,  with  cheap 
French  furniture,  upholstered  with  blue  brocade  that 
clashed  hideously  with  the  scarlet  carpet.  There  were  sev- 
eral sofas  and  chairs  stiffly  arranged  round  the  walls;  but 
no  tables,  save  low  maidahs  of  carved  wood  inlaid  with 
pearl,  such  as  they  had  seen  in  Cairo  bazaars  and  hotels. 
The  windows  were  closed,  and  the  air  heavy,  as  in  a  room 
seldom  used.  The  two  seated  themselves  close  together, 
on  one  of  the  ugly  sofas  facing  a  door  through  which  the 
beckoning  negress  had  gone  out.  There  was  no  sound 
except  the  harsh  ticking  of  a  huge,  bulbous  clock,  all  gild- 
ing and  flowers,  which  stood  in  a  corner.  Monny's  and 
Brigit's  eyes  met,  with  a  question. 


THE  OPENING  DOOR  333 

Who  would  open  the  door  just  closed?  Would  it  be 
Mabel,  or  would  Rechid  Bey  stride  in,  to  reproach  or  in- 
sult them? 

"Are  you  sure  it's  loaded?"  Biddy  whispered. 

No  need  for  Monny  to  ask  what  she  meant. 

"Sure,"  she  answered. 

The  handle  of  the  door  turned. 


xxn 


** THANK  God!"  cried  Biddy,  as  a  slim  figure  in  a  loose 
white  robe  framed  itself  in  the  doorway. 

With  a  sob,  Mabel  ran  toward  them,  both  hands  held 
out,  and  in  an  instant  she  was  being  hugged  and  kissed 
and  cooed  over. 

"You've  found  me  —  you've  come!"  she  cried.  "I 
never  dared  think  you  would,  when  he  rushed  me  away 
from  Asiut.  He  said  he  would  keep  me  here  all  the  rest 
of  my  life,  to  punish  me  for  complaining  to  you." 

"But  how  did  he  know?"  Monny  asked.  "Did  your 
sister-in-law  tell  him  about  the  letter?  " 

"I  don't  think  so,  unless  he  has  made  her  confess.  It 
was  like  this:  He  was  coming  to  his  place  here  on  busi- 
ness. I  felt  so  thankful.  It  seemed  providential  he 
should  be  away  then,  just  when  you  were  starting  up  Nile. 
I  was  almost  happy  that  morning,  when  suddenly  he 
appeared  again  and  I  was  ordered  to  put  on  a  habberah 
and  yashmak,  and  travel  with  him.  Yeena,  the  woman 
who  acts  as  my  maid,  had  to  get  ready  in  a  hurry,  too. 
The  chief  eunuch,  a  hateful  hypocritical  wretch,  followed. 
Some  clothes  have  been  sent  to  me  since,  but  not  many. 
At  first  I  couldn't  guess  what  had  happened,  and  lie  was 
in  such  a  fiendish  temper  I  daren't  ask  questions.  It 

S34 


THE  DRIVER  OF  AN  ARABEAH  335 

wasn't  till  after  we  arrived  that  he  explained.  I'm  sure  he 
took  pleasure  in  hurting  me.  He  said  that  he  left  home 
early  the  morning  he  was  going  to  Luxor,  because  he 
meant  to  stop  and  make  a  business  call  on  the  way  to  the 
depot,  otherwise  he  wouldn't  have  been  able  to  rush  home 
and  fetch  me  as  he  did,  and  still  be  in  time  to  catch  his 
train  after  the  warning.  It  was  some  dragoman  you  em- 
ployed in  Cairo,  he  told  me,  who  had  seen  us  getting  off 
the  Laconia,  and  who  ran  after  his  carriage  in  the  street, 
in  Asiut.  The  wicked  creature  warned  him  that  you 
were  all  there,  and  that  he'd  heard  you  say  something 
which  sounded  as  if  there  were  a  plot  to  get  at  me.  Just 
at  thai  minute,  by  the  worst  of  luck,  Mr.  Sheridan  passed. 
You  know  how  foolish  and  cruel  he  was  about  Mr.  Sheri- 
dan on  the  ship.  Well,  he  hadn't  forgotten.  So  he  turned 
round  and  almost  snatched  me  out  of  the  house,  rather 
than  I  should  be  left  in  Asiut  with  him  away." 

"  This  is  exactly  what  we  thought  must  have  happened  !'* 
exclaimed  Monny.  "That  beast,  Bedr!  And  to  think 
that  Rachel  and  I  wasted  our  tune  trying  to  convert  him ! 
How  I  wish  I  hadn't  let  Aunt  Clara  engage  him  at  Alex- 
andria! She  thought  he'd  come  from  a  man  with  her 
favourite  name,  Antony :  but  she  wouldn't  have  insisted  if 
I  hadn't  encouraged  her.  I  feel  as  if  this  trouble  were 
partly  my  fault.  And  if  I  hadn't  been  thoughtless  enough 
at  Asiut  to  blurt  out  your  husband's  name " 

"You're  not  to  blame  for  anything,  dearest,"  Biddy 
tried  to  comfort  her.  "It  was  your  unfailing  resolve 
to  help,  which  has  brought  us  here." 

"You're  both  my  good  angels,"  said  Mabel,  "Oh, 
it's  heavenly  to  see  you.  But  I  can't  understand  why 


336  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

I'm  allowed  to,  after  all  the  threats  and  punishments. 
I'm  afraid  I  shall  be  made  to  pay  somehow.  He  loves  to 
torture  me  —  and  he  knows  how.  I  believe  he  hates  me, 
now  he's  begun  to  realize  that  I'd  give  anything  to  leave 
him,  that  I  don't  consider  myself  his  wife." 

"If  he  hates  you,  why  isn't  he  willing  to  let  you  go?" 
Monny  questioned  her. 

"Partly  because  he's  very  vain,  and  it  would  humiliate 
him.  Partly  because  he  has  no  son  yet,  only  that  horrid 
little  brown  girl;  and  he's  set  his  heart  on  a  boy  who's 
to  possess  all  the  qualities  and  strength  of  the  West. 
No,  he  won't  let  me  go!" 

"Well,  you'll  do  it  hi  spite  of  him  then,"  said  Monny 
eagerly.  "That's  what  we're  here  for.  We  shall  take 
you  with  us.  You  must  say  to  your  servants  that  we've 
invited  you  to  drive,  and  you've  accepted.  There's 
nothing  in  that  to  make  them  suspect.  Lots  of  Turkish 
ladies  go  driving  and  motoring  with  European  women,  in 
Cairo.  And  you  can  have  that  fat  black  man  sit  on  the 
box  seat,  with  —  with  our  coachman,  if  it  would  make 
things  easier,  taking  him  to  guard  you.  He  can  be  hus- 
tled or  bribed  or  something,  when  the  right  time  comes  to 
get  rid  of  him,  never  fear.  Oh,  it's  going  to  be  a  glorious 
adventure,  and  at  the  end  of  it  you'll  be  free!  Nobody 
could  blame  you,  as  the  man  has  another  wife." 

Mabella  Hanem  shook  her  head.  "  You're  splendid  to 
plan  this.  But  it's  too  late.  It  was  too  late  from  the 
moment  that  dragoman  warned  —  my  husband.  Why 
you've  been  allowed  to  come  into  the  house  and  talk  with 
me,  I  can't  think,  unless  he  is  watching  and  listening 
through  a  hidden  spyhole.  There's  sure  to  be  some  secret 


THE  DRIVER  OF  AN  ARABEAH  337 

reason  in  his  head,  anyhow  —  a  reason  that's  for  his  good 
and  not  mine.  And  I  shall  not  be  able  to  get  out,  if  you 
do." 

"//  we  do!"  echoed  Biddy,  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

She  glanced  furtively  at  Monny.  What  had  we  all 
been  dreaming  of  when  we  let  this  beautiful  girl  run  into 
danger?  I  know  Biddy  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  her 
thought  at  that  instant  was  for  Monny  Gilder,  not  Brigit 
O'Brien.  But  the  fear  in  her  heart  was  vague,  until  the 
next  answer  Mabel  made  —  an  answer  that  came  almost 
with  calmness;  for  Mabella  Hanem's  whole  being  was  con- 
centrated upon  herself,  and  her  own  imbroglio.  Every- 
thing else,  everybody  else  —  even  these  friends  who  were 
risking  much  to  help  her  —  were  secondary  considerations. 

"  I  don't  suppose  real  harm  will  come  to  you.  I  don't 
see  how  he'd  dare.  And  yet  —  there  may  be  something 
on  foot.  Three  men  had  come  to-day,  one  who  might  be 
a  dragoman,  and  two  Europeans.  They  came  together.  I 
saw  them.  And  I  haven't  seen  them  go  away.  They're 
in  the  men's  part  of  the  house  —  the  seldmlik.  They  must 
be  with  my  husband.  Perhaps  there's  only  some  business 
about  the  sugar-cane.  But " 

"Did  you  see  the  men  distinctly?"  Biddy  asked,  in  a 
changed  tone.  • 

"  Yes,  quite  distinctly,  for  they  glanced  up  at  the  win- 
dow where  I  was  peeping  out.  Of  course  they  couldn't 
see  me,  through  the  wooden  lattice  and  the  bougainvillia, 
but  I  had  a  good  look  at  them.  The  dragoman  seemed 
to  have  one  blind  eye.  Oh!  I  hadn't  thought  of  that 
before!  Can  it  be  the  man  who  gave  the  warning?" 

"What  were  the  Europeans  like?"  Biddy  questioned, 


338  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

without  answering.  "Were  they  wearing  light  tweed 
knickerbockers  with  big  checks?" 

"No,  they  were  in  dark  clothes,  not  very  noticeable." 

"Had  one  a  scar  on  his  forehead?  " 

"Why,  yes,  I  believe  he  had!" 

The  eyes  of  Brigit  and  Monny  met:  but  there  was 
none  of  that  deadly  fear  in  the  girl's,  which  Biddy  was 
trying  to  keep  out  of  hers.  Even  now,  it  was  hardly 
fear  for  herself.  It  was  nearly  all  for  Monny;  but  Monny 
must  not  know,  lest  she  should  lose  her  nerve  when  it 
was  needed  most.  That  idea  of  Brigit's,  about  Monny 
being  mistaken  for  Esme  O'Brien  by  members  of  the 
Organization  O'Brien  betrayed,  had  seemed  foolish  and 
far  fetched,  although  Esme  was  hidden  from  her  father's 
enemies  near  Monaco,  and  it  was  at  Monaco  that  Miss 
Gilder  and  Rachel  Guest  and  Mrs.  East  had  joined 
Brigit  on  the  Laconia.  I  had  laughed  at  the  suggestion, 
and  Biddy  had  been  half-ashamed  to  make  it.  But  now, 
in  this  lonely  house  where  she  and  the  girl  had  been  un- 
expectedly welcomed,  in  this  house  where  the  master 
watched,  entertaining  three  strange  men,  the  thought 
did  not  appear  quite  so  foolish,  quite  so  far  fetched. 
Indeed,  Biddy  marvelled  why  it  had  occurred  to  none 
of  us  that  one  of  the  dangers  to  be  run  in  rescuing  Mabel 
might  come  through  Bedr,  the  same  danger  which  had 
perhaps  threatened  in  the  House  of  the  Crocodile. 

Too  late  to  think  of  this  now!  The  fact  remained 
that  we  had  not  thought  of  it  when  there  was  time. 
Not  even  Biddy  had  felt  certain  that  there  was  a  secret 
motive  for  taking  the  girls  to  the  hasheesh  den,  or 
that  Bedr  had  been  guilty  of  anything  worse  than  indis- 


THE  DRIVER  OF  AN  ARABEAH  339 

cretion.  His  warning  to  Rechid  Bey  we  had  put  down  to 
a  petty  desire  for  revenge,  to  "pay  us  out"  for  his  dis- 
charge. Though  Biddy  had  never  felt  sure  of  his  new 
employers'  German  origin,  and  though  she  had  had  qualms 
at  sight  of  the  party,  following  or  arriving  before  us  on  our 
pilgrimage  through  the  desert  and  up  the  Nile,  she  had 
never  associated  their  possible  designs  with  Rechid  Bey's 
grudge  against  us.  Yet  how  obvious  that  Bedr  should 
take  advantage  of  it  for  his  clients'  sake,  if  those  two  men 
were  what  she  sometimes  feared!  Brigit  had  never 
spoken  out  to  Monny  what  was  in  her  mind  about  Esme 
O'Brien.  She  had  known  that  Monny  would  laugh,  and 
perhaps  say  "What  fun!"  For  the  girl  had  invited 
Biddy  to  Egypt  "because  she  attracted  adventures,"  and 
because  Monny  badly  needed  a  few,  her  life  having  been, 
up  to  the  date  of  starting,  a  "kind  of  fruit  and  flower  piece 
in  a  neat  frame."  Now,  perhaps  Monny  wouldn't  laugh; 
but  it  was  not  the  time  to  speak  of  new  dangers. 

"Well,  if  your  husband  thinks  that  creatures  like  Bedr 
and  his  Germans  are  going  to  help  him  stop  us  from  get- 
ting out,  or  taking  you  out,  he's  wrong,"  said  Monny, 
stoutly.  "Bedr's  the  most  sickening  coward,  as  Rachel 
Guest  and  I  have  reason  to  remember.  But  I'm  glad  we 
know  what  we  have  to  expect,  aren't  you,  Biddy?  " 

It  was  hard  to  answer,  because  the  girl  was  in  reality 
so  far  from  knowing  what  she  might  have  to  expect. 
Brigit  tried  to  smile  her  reply,  as  Monny  began  to  tell 
Mabel  something  of  their  plan:  about  the  friends  ready 
to  rally  round  them,  once  they  were  in  the  carriage  wait- 
ing outside  the  gate;  and  about  the  motor  coat  and  veiled 
hood  which  had  been  brought  for  Mabel  to  put  on,  at  a 


340  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

safe  distance  from  the  house.  "You'll  have  to  start  in 
your  own  things,"  the  girl  was  saying,  "otherwise  your 
servants  would  think  it  odd.  Ring  now,  dear,  for  your 
woman,  and  have  her  give  you  your  habberah  and 
yashmak." 

"There  are  no  bells,"  said  Mabella  Hanem,  with  her 
soft  air  of  obstinate  hopelessness.  "When  I  want  Yeena, 
if  she  isn't  in  the  room,  I  clap  my  hands  as  hard  as  I  can. 
But  I  tell  you,  it  is  no  use.  It  is  too  late."  As  she  spoke, 
throwing  up  her  arms  and  letting  them  fall  with  a  ges- 
ture of  helpless  despair,  both  Brigit  and  Monny  felt  that 
Islam  had  already  raised  a  barrier  between  them  and  this 
delicate  creature  it  had  taken  into  its  keeping.  In  the 
white  wool  robe  she  wore  —  the  kind  of  loose  dressing 
gown  affected  by  Turkish  women  —  she  looked  more  like 
a  Circassian  than  an  American  girl.  Always  she  had 
seemed  to  her  would-be  rescuers  a  charming  doll,  a  femi- 
nine thing  of  exactly  the  type  which  would  appeal  to  a 
Turk,  weary  of  dark  beauties:  her  hair  was  so  very  golden, 
her  eyes  so  very  big  and  blue,  her  lashes  so  very  black,  her 
mouth  so  very  red  and  small :  but  now  she  had  become  an 
odalisque.  Mabel's  friends  realized  that  she  would  do 
nothing  to  save  herself.  They  must  do  all. 

Hesitating  no  longer,  Monny  struck  her  hands  loudly 
together.  Yeena  did  not  come.  The  girl  clapped  again, 
and  yet  again,  till  her  palms  smarted,  but  nothing 
happened. 

"Yeena  is  in  it  —  whatever  they  mean  to  do,"  said 
Mabel.  "She's  had  her  orders." 

"Very  well,  then,"  Monny  persisted,  her  eyes  shining 
and  her  cheeks  carnation,  "you  must  go  without  your 


THE  DRIVER  OF  AN  ARABEAH  341 

wraps.  Come  along.  Don't  be  frightened.  Isn't  it 
better  to  risk  something  to  get  away  than  to  stay  here 
alone  when  we're  gone?" 

The  pretty  doll,  with  a  little  moan,  gave  herself  up  to 
her  friends.  Brigit  as  well  as  Monny  realized  that  the 
moment  had  come.  They  must  take  her  while  she  was 
in  this  mood. 

"Let  me  go  ahead,"  said  Monny,  in  a  low,  firm  voice. 
"You  know  why." 

Brigit  did  know  why.  Monny  had  Anthony's  Brown- 
ing, and  she  alone  understood  the  use  of  it.  Yes,  she 
must  lead  the  way;  yet  Brigit  longed  to  fling  herself  in 
front,  to  make  of  her  body  a  shield  for  the  tall  white  girl 
she  had  never  so  loved  and  admired.  Biddy  put  Mabel 
in  front  of  her,  and  behind  Monny,  keeping  her  between 
them  with  two  cold  but  determined  little  hands  on  the 
shrinking  shoulders,  and  so  pushing  her  along,  protected 
front  and  rear,  in  the  piteous  procession. 

Of  course,  if  the  door  leading  toward  the  house  entrance 
had  been  locked  on  the  outside,  there  would  have  been  the 
end  of  the  endeavour,  for  the  moment:  but  it  opened  to 
Monny's  hand,  and  all  three  went  on  unchecked,  until 
they  came  to  the  vestibule,  where  on  the  wall  bench  they 
had  seen  the  koran  of  the  fat  negro,  awaiting  his  return. 

They  had  come  tiptoeing,  and  had  made  no  more  sound 
than  prowling  kittens,  yet  he  sat  there  facing  the  door,  no 
longer  heavy-lidded,  a  black  mountain  of  lazy  flesh,  but 
alert,  beady -eyed,  as  if  he  had  been  counting  the  minutes. 

As  they  swept  through  the  doorway,  hoping  to  surprise 
him,  the  eunuch  jumped  to  his  feet  as  lightly  as  a  man  of 
half  his  weight,  and  smiling  with  pleasure  in  the  excite- 


342  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

ment  of  an  event  to  break  monotony,  he  blocked  with  his 
great  bulk  the  aperture  between  wall  and  projecting 
screen. 

No  wonder  they  had  not  needed  to  lock  doors,  with  this 
giant  for  a  jailer,  and  a  big  Sudanese  knife  conspicuously 
showing  in  a  belt  under  his  open  galabeah!  Rechid  had 
perhaps  wanted  the  white  mouse  in  his  trap  to  feel  the 
thrill  of  hope,  and  then  the  shock  of  disappointment.  He 
had  counted  completely  on  the  guardian  of  his  harem,  but 
—  though  he  had  chosen  an  American  wife,  he  had  not 
counted  on  the  courage  of  another  type  of  American  girl. 
The  knife  looked  terrible;  but  it  was  sheathed  and  tucked 
into  a  belt.  Anthony's  Browning  was  in  Monny's  hand, 
and  hidden  only  under  her  serge  coat.  Out  it  came,  with 
a  warning  click  of  the  trigger.  And  with  an  astonished, 
frightened  gurgle  in  his  throat  the  negro  involuntarily  fell 
back. 

"Run!"  Monny  breathed,  prisoning  him  where  he 
stood,  with  the  little  bright  eye  of  the  Browning  cocked 
up  at  his  face.  She  had  to  be  obeyed  then,  and  they  ran, 
the  two  of  them,  flashing  past  the  black  man,  touching 
his  clothes  as  they  squeezed  by,  yet  he  dared  not  put  out 
a  detaining  hand.  When  they  were  away  —  safe  or  not, 
she  could  not  tell  —  Monny  still  kept  the  pistol  in  position, 
but  began  slowly  to  turn,  that  she  too  might  pass  the 
dragon,  holding  him  at  her  mercy  till  the  end.  Not  a 
word  of  Arabic  could  she  recall,  but  the  Browning  spoke 
for  her,  a  language  understood  without  the  trouble  of 
learning,  by  all  the  sons  of  Adam. 

When  she  had  backed  through  the  doorway,  the  girl  still 
faced  toward  the  inner  vestibule,  and  it  was  well  she 


THE  DRIVER  OF  AN  ARABEAH  343 

did  so,  for  scarcely  was  she  out  of  his  sight  before  the 
black  giant  was  after  her,  taking  the  chance  that  she 
would  have  turned  to  run.  But  there  was  the  resolute 
young  face,  with  eyes  defying  his;  and  there  was  the 
weapon  ready  to  blow  out  such  brains  as  he  had,  if  the 
hand  on  the  knife  moved.  Again  he  fell  back,  and  then 
Monny  did  run,  making  the  best  use  she  had  ever  made  of 
those  long  limbs  which  gave  her  the  air  of  a  young  Diana. 
She  ran  until  she  had  caught  up  with  the  other  two,  flying 
toward  the  distant  gate;  for  something  told  her  that  the 
negro  would  have  hurried  to  tell  his  master  of  the  trick 
the  women  had  played  —  preferring  the  lash  on  his  back 
perhaps,  to  a  bullet  through  his  head. 

She  was  right,  no  doubt,  to  trust  her  instinct,  for  the 
eunuch  did  not  pursue,  though  his  tale  of  failure  was  not 
needed.  Rechid  Bey  had  been  watching  from  a  window 
of  the  selamlik,  as  Mabel  his  wife  had  watched  when  he 
received  visitors.  He  did  not  wait  for  the  negro's  warn- 
ing, but  dashed  out  of  the  house,  followed  and  then  passed 
by  several  long-robed  men  in  Arab  dress.  The  faces  of 
these  were  almost  hidden  by  the  loose  hoods  which  desert 
men  pull  over  their  heads  in  a  high  wind,  but  had  they 
been  uncovered  the  women  would  not  have  seen  them. 
The  thing  was  to  escape,  not  to  take  note  of  the  pursuers; 
and  it  was  only  Biddy,  looking  over  her  shoulder  for  Monny, 
who  even  saw  that  they  were  followed.  She  cried  out  to 
her  friend  to  hurry,  that  some  one  was  coming,  that  they 
must  get  to  the  gate  or  all  would  be  ended;  then  feeling 
Mabel  falter,  she  held  her  more  tightly  and  ran  the  faster. 

Rechid  and  his  companions  were  shouting,  not  to  the 
women,  but  to  the  gatekeeper;  and  as  the  master's  furious 


344  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

voice  rang  out,  just  in  front  of  the  fugitive  (all  three  to- 
gether now),  appeared  the  big  form  of  the  man  at  the 
gate. 

Monny  did  not  know  what  to  do;  for  in  whichever  direc- 
tion she  faced  with  the  Browning,  she  could  be  captured 
from  the  other.  She  might  kill  the  negro,  and  then  turn  to 
keep  the  pursuers  back:  but  the  thought  of  killing  a  man 
sickened  her.  She  had  meant  only  to  threaten,  not  to 
take  life.  Suddenly  she  felt  afraid  of  the  Browning.  She 
hesitated,  in  a  wild  second  of  confusion,  hating  herself  for 
failing  her  friends,  yet  unable  to  decide  or  act :  but  hardly 
had  the  gatekeeper  sprung  in  sight  than  he  went  down, 
flat  on  his  face,  struck  in  the  back  of  the  neck  by  the 
shabby  fellow  who  had  driven  their  carriage.  "Go  on!" 
the  dirty-faced  Arab  said  in  French.  "There's  some  one 
else  to  drive  you.  I'll  follow.  I'm  armed." 

The  three  sped  by  him,  as  he  stood  aside  to  let  them 
pass,  showing  to  Monny  a  pistol  which  matched  the  one 
he  had  lent  her.  This  consoled  the  girl  in  obeying;  for 
as  "Antoun"  had  trusted  her  courage  in  this  adventure, 
so  did  she  trust  his,  and  his  strength  and  wit  against 
four  men  or  four  dozen  men,  if  need  were. 

There  was  the  waiting  arabeah,  and  there  on  the  box 
was  a  much  cleaner,  more  self-respecting  Arab  to  drive 
it  than  the  soiled  figure  which  had  left  the  horses  and 
strayed  into  the  garden.  Afterwards  they  learned  that 
the  new  man  was  the  "sister's  cousin's  uncle"  of  the  Had- 
ji's cafe  acquaintance.  He  had  been  engaged  to  stroll 
past  in  the  road,  stop,  speak,  offer  the  gatekeeper  a  cigar- 
ette, drift  into  conversation,  and  be  ready  to  jump  onto 
the  box  seat  the  instant  Antoun  left  it.  His  instructions 


THE  DRIVER  OF  AN  ARABEAH          345 

included  furious  driving  with  the  three  ladies  (once  they 
had  bundled  into  the  arabeah),  to  the  Temple  of  Mut. 

Rechid  Bey  had  every  right,  according  to  his  own  point 
of  view,  to  resent  the  kidnapping  of  his  wife,  and  to  get 
her  back  in  any  way  he  could,  even  if  blood  had  to  be  spilt. 
But  his  companions  —  they  who  were  muffled  in  the  cloaks 
and  hoods  to  save  their  faces  from  the  sharp  wind  —  had 
perhaps  not  the  same  right  or  interest.  In  any  case,  when 
they  saw  that  the  women  had  a  man,  or  men,  to  help  them, 
and  that  so  helped  they  had  passed  from  the  privacy  of  the 
garden  to  the  publicity  of  the  road,  the  three  fell  back. 
Publicity,  it  may  be,  did  not  please  them:  or  else,  thinking 
to  have  only  women  to  deal  with,  they  were  not  armed 
and  did  not  like  the  look  of  the  pistol.  Rechid,  evidently 
no  coward,  or  past  feeling  fear  in  rage  at  the  failure  of  his 
counterplot,  ran  on,  wheezing  slightly  —  he  was  fat  for  his 
age  —  toward  the  erect  Arab  and  the  prostrate  negro. 

"Beast!  devil!"  he  panted  breathlessly,  and  cried  out 
other  words  of  evil  import  in  both  Turkish  and  Arabic; 
threatening  the  silent  man  of  the  pistol  with  death  and 
things  even  worse.  But  before  he  had  gone  far,  the 
hooded  men  caught  up  with  him,  and  surrounding,  urged 
him  back.  What  they  said,  Anthony  could  not  hear,  or 
what  he  said  in  return;  but  he  thought  they  were  proposing 
some  plan  which  appealed  to  Rechid's  reason,  for  he 
showed  signs  of  yielding.  There  was  now  no  longer  any- 
thing to  detain  the  protector  of  the  ladies,  for  by  this 
time,  he  hoped  and  believed  that  their  arabeah  must  be 
far  on  its  way  toward  the  Temple  of  Mut,  the  meeting- 
place  agreed  upon.  Accordingly,  he  stepped  over  the 
unconscious  gatekeeper,  who  lay  with  his  nose  in  the 


346  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

grass,  and  backed  calmly  out  of  the  garden.  Not  far 
off,  an  arabeah  was  crawling  along  the  road,  so  slowly 
that  one  might  have  thought  the  driver  half  asleep.  But 
this  supposition  would  have  done  him  an  injustice.  Dusk 
had  fallen  now,  the  purple  dusk  which  drops  like  a  cur- 
tain just  after  the  pageant  of  sunset  is  finished,  yet  the 
driver  was  wide  enough  awake  to  pierce  the  purple  with  a 
pair  of  sharp  eyes,  and  recognize  a  figure  expected.  He 
whipped  up  his  horse,  and  the  dirty  Arab  running  to  meet 
it,  hi  a  few  seconds  the  latter  was  on  the  box  beside  the 
coachman.  Then  the  arabeah  turned,  and  dashed  wildly 
off  according  to  the  custom  of  arabeahs,  back  in  the  di- 
rection whence  it  had  been  crawling. 

The  two  dark-faced  men  in  the  vehicle  talked  rapidly 
in  low  voices,  speaking  the  language  not  only  of  the  coun- 
try but  the  patois  of  Luxor  itself.  "  Your  brother  passed 
you  in  his  arabeah?  " 

"Yes,  Hadji,  he  passed  with  the  three  European  ladies 
you  told  me  had  been  in  secret  to  visit  their  friend." 
•  Then  Anthony  knew  that  Brigit  and  Monny  had  been 
able  already  to  carry  out  their  plan  of  wrapping  Mabella 
Hanem  in  one  of  their  own  cloaks.  This  was  well,  and 
would  save  gossip,  if  the  occupants  of  the  arabeah  were 
stared  at  by  passers  by.  And  at  the  temple  also  it 
would  be  well,  for  if  possible  the  Set  were  to  know  nothing, 
now  or  later,  of  the  adventure.  But  though  Anthony  was 
glad  of  the  news  he  had  got  from  this  Arab  ordered  to  meet 
him  at  the  gate,  he  did  not  settle  down  comfortably  and 
say  to  himself:  "Thank  goodness,  the  thing  is  over." 
Those  men  back  there  in  the  garden  would  not  so  easily 
have  persuaded  Rechid  Bey  to  let  his  wife  go  unpursued, 


THE  DRIVER  OF  AN  ARABEAH          347 

if  they  had  not  offered  some  alternative  plan  that  could  be 
carried  out  quickly. 

Still,  so  far  so  good.  Brigit  and  Monny  had  "won 
out,"  and  secured  the  prize,  as  Anthony  had  prophesied 
that  they  would  do.  They  were  on  their  way  to  the 
temple,  where  I  would  be  with  the  comfortable,  common- 
place crowd  from  the  Enchantress  Isis,  and  where  the 
American  Consul  and  his  wife  would  just  "happen"  also  to 
be  wandering.  Instead  of  driving  straight  there  himself, 
Anthony  went  with  a  friend  to  an  obscure,  mud-built 
house  in  the  village.  When  he  came  out  of  that  house, 
his  brown-stained  face  was  no  longer  disfigured  with 
dirt.  It  was  as  immaculate,  as  noble  as  the  proudest 
Hadji's  face  should  be,  and  above  it  was  wound  the  green 
turban.  Ahmed  Antoun  Effendi's  own  dignified,  old- 
fashioned  robes  of  the  Egyptian  gentleman  flowed  round 
his  tall  figure,  when  once  more  he  took  his  place  in  the 
waiting  arabeah  —  this  time  not  on  the  box  seat  —  and 
drove  off  at  more  furious  speed  than  ever,  toward  the 
Temple  of  Mut. 


XXIII 
BENGAL  FIRE 

THE  Temple  of  MM  I  think  must  always  be  mysterious 
even  by  day.  That  night  it  was  more  than  mysterious. 
It  was  sinister. 

Darkness  shut  us  in  among  the  pillars  and  the  black, 
lion-faced  statues.  The  least  imaginative  of  my  charges 
seemed  to  feel  the  influence  of  the  place.  Not  an  Arab, 
not  even  the  superior  boat  dragoman,  would  come  inside 
with  us:  because  after  the  sun  has  set,  dethroned  Sekhet 
comes  into  her  own  again.  Strange  stories  are  whispered 
by  Arabs,  of  the  Temple  of  Mut,  and  of  the  ghostly, 
golden  dahabeah  that,  once  a  year,  sails  slowly  by  to  a 
faint  sound  of  music,  on  the  Sacred  Lake.  We  had 
brought  candles  with  us,  protected  by  smoky  glass  from 
the  wind  that  swept  down  the  avenue  of  broken  Sphinxes 
outside,  and  hissed  like  angry  cats  through  the  dark 
courts  lined  with  granite  statues  of  the  Cat-goddess. 
Yet  despite  the  mystery,  or  because  of  it,  people  seemed 
curiously  happy.  The  spirit  of  the  past,  of  Old  Egypt, 
touched  them  in  the  shadowy  spaces  of  this  ruined  temple, 
brushed  them  with  its  wings,  and  whispered  half-heard 
words  into  their  ears.  They  talked  to  each  other  in  low 
tones,  as  if  not  to  miss  the  whispers  or  the  soft  footfalls 
of  unseen  things;  and  they  did  not  laugh  and  make  jokes, 

348 


BENGAL  FIRE  349 

or  ask  silly  questions,  according  to  their  irritating 
custom. 

I  blessed  this  mood,  for  my  nerves  were  jangled  (more 
than  ever  after  the  Bronsons  unobtrusively  appeared) 
waiting  for  Brigit  and  Monny  to  come,  wondering  if  they 
would  come,  or  what  we  should  do  if  they  didn't;  because 
suddenly  in  this  place  of  gloom  and  eloquent  silence  all 
the  clever  little  plans  Anthony  and  I  had  made,  in  case  of 
accident,  seemed  futile.  How  could  we  have  let  those 
two  walk  alone  into  a  trap?  I  blamed  myself,  I  blamed 
Anthony;  and  sometimes  I  gave  the  wrong  answers  to  Mrs. 
East,  who  walked  with  me,  trying  to  keep  out  of  the  way 
of  the  crowd. 

She  was  anxious  to  talk  of  her  niece,  and  to  relate  how 
she  had  been  singing  my  praises  to  Monny.  "You 
mustn't  be  discouraged,"  she  said.  "Never  mind  about 
the  hieroglyphic  letter.  Oh,  no,  you  needn't  worry!  I 
haven't  told  her  it  was  yours.  Better  let  her  think 
what  she  thought  at  first.  Did  she  tell  you  what  she 
thought?  Please  answer  me,  Lord  Ernest!  I  don't 
mind  your  knowing  —  now  —  that  I  believed  it  was  from 
Antoun  to  me.  Believing  so,  did  no  harm.  Why  should 
it,  to  me,  or  to  him?  I  soon  guessed  that  there  was  a 
mistake  somewhere  —  when  he  didn't  —  didn't  follow 
the  letter  up.  I  was  not  offended  by  the  proposal  as 
Monny  would  have  been  —  oh,  not  if  she'd  known  it 
was  yours,  but  if  she'd  supposed  Antoun  was  making  love 
to  her.  Don't  you  see  —  you  must  have  seen,  you're 
so  quick  and  observant  —  that  she's  been  caught  by  the 
romance  of  him,  just  as  she  was  afraid  she  might  be  by 
some  thrilling  prince,  when  she  came  to  Egypt.  She's 


350  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

miserable.  She's  hating  herself.  And  you  won't  save 
her  though  I've  prepared  her  mind!" 

"So  that's  what  you  meant  when  you  hinted  that  I 
could  spare  her  humiliation!"  I  said,  half  in  laughter, 
hah"  in  bitterness,  suddenly  able  to  concentrate  my  mind 
upon  the  talk.  "Do  you  think  a  man  would  want  a  girl 
to  take  him  for  such  a  reason,  when  she's  caring  for  some 
one  else?" 

"But,  if  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  marry  the 
some  one  else?" 

"Why  should  it  be  impossible?" 

"She  would  think  it  impossible." 

"Would  she,  if I  checked  myself,  but  Mrs.  East 

understood  instantly.  "If  he  has  a  secret,"  she  said, 
"  then  none  of  us  has  a  right  to  suggest  it  to  her.  Every 
man  for  himself,  Lord  Ernest,  in  lore!  Antoun  Effendi 
has  no  reason  to  feel  too  kindly  to  Monny.  You'll  be 
robbing  your  friend  of  nothing,  if  you  speak  to  her.  If 
he's  in  love  with  any  one,  it  isn't  my  niece." 

"At  least  it's  not  you.  Perhaps  it's  Biddy  after  all!" 
my  thoughts  interpolated. 

"To  care  for  Monny  would  be  beneath  his  dignity,  con- 
sidering all  that's  passed.  And  you  can  make  her  happy, 
as  well  as  yourself,  by  taking  my  advice,"  Mrs.  East  went 
on.  "Aren't  you  going  to  be  sensible?" 

Just  then  came  a  murmur  expressing  surprise  or  some 
other  new  emotion,  from  one  of  the  outer  courts  where 
the  crowd  wandered,  Cleopatra  having  lured  me  —  yes, 
"lured"  is  the  word  —  into  the  sanctuary  itself. 

"Something  has  happened!"  I  said.  "Let's  go  back, 
and  see  what  it  is." 


BENGAL  FIRE  351 

"  Perhaps  Antoun  has  come ! "  Mrs.  East  caught  me  up 
eagerly.  "He  was  coming,  wasn't  he,  when  he'd  finished 
his  business?  Or  maybe  it's  only  Monny  and  Brigit." 

"Only  Monny  and  Brigit!" 

In  the  hope  of  seeing  Antoun,  Cleopatra  turned  her 
back  upon  the  dreary  sanctuary  not  unwillingly,  even 
though  the  burning  question  was  left  unanswered.  I 
hurried  her  through  the  dark  passages  which  lay  between 
us  and  the  courts,  lighting  our  way  with  a  glassed-in 
candle;  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  not  to  cry  out  aloud 
"Thank  heaven!"  or  "Hurrah!"  or  something  else  that 
would  have  opened  people's  eyes,  when  I  saw  that  indeed, 
Brigit  and  Monny  had  arrived.  It  was  Rachel  Guest  and 
Willis  Bailey  who  had  hailed  them  from  afar,  as  candle- 
lights flashed  across  their  faces ;  and  suddenly  to  my  eyes 
the  gloomy  temple  seemed  to  be  brilliantly  illuminated. 
I  don't  know  exactly  how  I  contrived  to  leave  Cleopatra, 
and  get  to  the  newcomers;  but  I  did  get  to  them  in  less 
than  a  minute.  Perhaps  I  was  a  little  rude  to  Mrs.  East. 
I  wasn't  thinking  of  that  at  the  time,  however,  nor  of 
her. 

I  separated  the  two  I  wanted  from  the  others.  Their 
faces  radiated  excitement,  but  I  was  not  sure  if  it  meant 
success.  I  was  sure  only  that  they  had  been  through  an 
ordeal  and  were  feeling  the  reaction. 

"You're  safe!"  I  said,  and  shook  hands  with  them 
feverishly.  Then  I  shook  hands  all  over  again. 

"Safe,  yes,"  Monny  answered.  "And  Mabel  —  why 
don't  you  ask  about  her?  Oh,  Lord  Ernest,  we've  done  it 
—  we've  done  it  —  thanks  to  Antoun  Eff endi !  We  should 
have  failed  at  the  last  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him.  Just  look 


35«  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

over  there,  at  the  Bronsons,  and  see  if  you  can  guess  who 
it  is  they're  talking  to?" 

I  looked  and  saw  tall,  thin  Mr.  Bronson,  and  short, 
plump  Mrs.  Bronson  trying  to  form  a  hollow  square 
around  a  little  figure  in  a  long  gray  coat  of  Biddy's,  and 
a  hood  with  a  veil  I  remembered  her  wearing  the  day  we 
motored  to  Heliopolis.  It  seemed  about  a  hundred  years 
ago.  I  had  conducted  so  much  and  so  violently  since; 
but  I  was  not  too  old  to  remember  Biddy's  hood.  What 
if  Neill  Sheridan,  poking  about  alone  with  a  candle,  could 
see  through  that  veil? 

"Triumph!"  I  exclaimed.  "You're  heroines!"  (I 
didn't  know  then  how  true  were  my  own  words.)  "Was 
it  a  great  adventure?" 

"Was  it,  Biddy?"  the  girl  asked,  half  shyly  of  her 
friend. 

"So  great  that  I  can't  talk  about  it,"  Brigit  answered, 
and  her  eyes  implored  mine  not  to  ask  questions.  Also 
they  said  that  she  had  things  to  tell  mo  —  not  now  but 
by  and  by.  Things  for  me  alone.  Biddy's  eyes  could  bo 
wonderful. 

"Where's  Antoun  Effendi?"  Monny  broke  in,  when  I 
had  taken  Brigit's  hint,  and  was  beginning  to  say  that  we 
must  go  and  speak  to  the  Bronsons. 

"He  hasn't  come  yet,"  I  answered;  and  then  her  eyes, 
too,  began  to  implore. 

"Not  come  yet?  But  —  it's  a  long  time.  We  found 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bronson  outside,  hoping  for  us  to  arrive, 
and  we  talked  to  them  and  introduced  Mabel,  and  ex- 
plained things.  They  would  have  liked  to  go  and  take 
her  away  quickly,  but  Biddy  and  I  begged  them  not  to. 


BENGAL  FIRE  353 

We  said  it  would  be  better  to  wait  for  the  rest,  and  all 
the  crowd  ,to  be  together  in  case  of  —  trouble.  Oh,  we 
discussed  everything,  for  ages  —  minutes  and  minutes. 
I  do  think  Antoun  Effendi  ought  to  be  here,  unless 

I  caught  her  up  quickly.     "Unless?" 

"Well,  you  see,  we  left  him  inside  Rechid's  gate,  where, 
he'd  just  knocked  down  a  big  negro,  and  was  keeping 
back  Rechid  and  lots  of  other  men  —  anyhow  three  — 
with  a  pistol  —  not  the  one  he  lent  me.     He  told  us  to  go, 
so  we  went." 

He  told  them  to  go  —  so  they  went !  A  change,  this, 
for  the  Gilded  Rose.  She  spoke  at  the  moment  like  an 
obedient  little  girl. 

"If  he  told  you  to  go  —  it  was  all  right,  you  may  be 
sure,"  I  said  encouragingly.  But  despite  my  faith  in 
Anthony  as  a  fighting  man,  I  felt  —  well,  somewhat 
dismayed  at  the  picture  called  up.  "Rechid  and  anyhow 
three  men!"  It  was  rather  a  large  order.  If  with  a 
wish  I  could  have  sent  every  member  of  the  Set  back  to 
their  peaceful  homes  in  England  and  America,  and  thus 
rid  myself  of  them  in  a  second,  they  would  all  have  found 
themselves  walking  in  at  their  respective  front  doors. 

I  wished  this  wish,  but  having  a  mere  smoking  candle 
in  my  hand,  and  not  Aladdin's  lamp,  it  didn't  work. 
There  they  inconveniently  remained  in  the  Temple  of 
Mut,  looking  twice  as  large  as  life. 

"What  if  I  tell  them  they've  seen  everything?"  I  mut- 
tered. "They  haven't,  but  that's  a  detail.  If  I  could 
rush  'em  all  back  to  the  boat  —  and  you  with  them,  of 
course,  and  get  Mabella  Hanem  and  the  Bronsons  off 
safely,  I  could  go  look  for  Anth  —  for  Antoun.  Of 


354  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

course  we  were  to  wait  for  him,  but  I  don't  like  the  pic- 
ture you've  painted " 

"Oh,  do  look  for  him!"  broke  in  Monny.  "Leave  us 
to  take  care  of  ourselves.  I'm  sure  we  can.  There  are 
enough  of  us.  And  Mr.  Bronson  is  a  Consul.  Go  and 
get  the  police." 

"I  can't  leave  you,"  I  said.  "Antoun  would  be  the 
last  one  to  forgive  me  if  I  did  that.  But  I'll  start  off  the 
party,  now.  The  arabeahs  and  donkeys  are  waiting. 
Listen  to  the  stentorian  voice  of  the  Conductor,  an- 
nouncing  " 

I  tried  to  speak  gayly;  but  the  announcement,  which  I 
opened  my  mouth  to  roar  through  the  temple,  was 
never  made.  There  came  instead,  at  that  instant,  a 
rival  roar  from  outside.  Mine  would  have  been  the  roar 
of  a  sucking  dove.  This  other  was  a  wild  bull  roar  of 
rage.  What  it  was  for,  who  was  making  it,  and  whether 
it  concerned  us,  we  did  not  know;  but  it  was  the  sound  of 
many  voices,  and  flowing  to  us  on  the  wind,  driving 
nearer  out  of  distance,  it  was  startling  and  caused  the 
heart  to  miss  a  beat. 

Suddenly  the  thought  sprang  into  my  mind  that 
this  was  like  something  in  a  theatre.  We  were  on 
the  stage,  in  a  play  of  Ancient  Egypt,  and  a  mob 
of  supers  was  yelling  for  our  lives  in  the  wings. 
They  would  pour  out  upon  the  stage  and  attack  us. 
Only  the  hero  and  heroine  would  be  saved.  All  the 
villains  and  other  unnecessary  people  would  be  polished 
off. 

Everybody  had  stopped  talking.  Involuntarily  groups 
drew  together.  We  looked  over  our  smoking  candles, 


BENGAL  FIKE  355 

past  the  standing  statues  and  the  fallen  statues,  away 
toward  the  columns  of  the  temple  entrance. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bronson,  and  the  girl  in  Biddy's  veiled 
hood  and  cloak,  walked  across  the  court  and  joined  our 
party  of  three.  Neill  Sheridan  was  at  a  distance.  His 
prophetic  soul  told  him  nothing.  "I  hope  that  fellow 
Rechid  Bey  hasn't  worked  up  any  trouble  against  us," 
the  American  Consul  from  Asiut  said  in  a  low,  somewhat 
worried  tone. 

Instantly  I  was  certain  that  what  he  hoped  had  not 
happened,  was  indeed  the  thing  that  had  happened. 
I  seemed  to  see  Rechid  stirring  up  a  crowd  of  his  fellow 
Mussulmans,  telling  them  that  dogs  of  Christians  had 
robbed  him  of  his  foreign  wife,  who  was  on  the  point  of 
accepting  Islam.  Nothing  easier  than  for  Rechid  to 
find  us.  All  Luxor  knew  we  were  in  the  Temple  of  Mut. 
These  men  of  Luxor  and  other  Nile  towns  of  Upper 
Egypt,  had  not  yet  settled  down  after  the  outburst 
against  Christian  insults  which  had  alarmed  the  authori- 
ties in  Cairo.  In  three  days  Anthony  Fenton  had  dis- 
covered the  dregs  at  the  bottom  of  the  teapot  and  had 
doubtless  done  something  toward  calming  the  tempest  in 
it,  but  the  troubled  water  had  not  time  to  cool.  It  could 
easily  be  brought  to  the  boil  again;  and  the  despoiling 
of  a  harem  by  Europeans  —  the  harem  of  an  important 
man  —  would  be  oil  thrown  onto  the  dying  fire  under  the 
tempestuous  teapot. 

The  furious  voices  grew  louder.  From  the  wave  of 
sound  words  spattered  out  and  up  like  spray.  Perhaps 
in  all  that  astonished  crowd  gathered  in  the  Temple  of 
Mftt,  Bronson  and  I  were  the  only  ones  who  knew  enough 


356  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Arabic  to  catch  their  meaning.  His  question  was  an- 
swered. And  this  was  not  a  stage.  Those  shouting  men 
were  not  supers  in  the  wings.  They  were  in  earnest. 
Foolish  and  dreamlike  and  utterly  unreal  as  it  seemed, 
their  hearts  were  hot  with  savage  anger  against  men  and 
women  of  an  alien  race:  and  though  what  they  might  do 
to  us  would  be  visited  on  their  own  heads  to-morrow,  they 
were  not  thinking  of  to-morrow  now.  As  for  us  —  it 
was  just  possible  that  owing  to  this  silly  dream  we  were 
having  about  a  mob  of  common,  uneducated  Arabs,  for 
some  of  us  there  might  not  be  any  to-morrow. 

"Is  there  a  back  door  where  we  can  dash  out  and  give 
them  the  slip?"  asked  Bronson. 

I  was  thinking  hard.  Mine  was  the  responsibility  for 
my  charges,  these  rich,  comfortable  tourists  from  London 
and  New  York,  Birmingham  and  Manchester,  Chicago 
and  St  Louis.  None  of  them  knew  yet  that  they  were  in 
danger.  They  were  thinking  about  their  dinner,  and  their 
pleasant,  lighted  cabins  on  board  the  Enchantress  Isis, 
waiting  for  them  not  far  away.  They  realized  that  some- 
thing was  the  matter  out  there,  that  a  lot  of  Arabs  were 
making  a  row;  but  it  interested  and  amused  them  im- 
personally. If  somebody  had  robbed  or  murdered  some- 
body else,  morally  it  was  a  pity,  of  course:  but  it  added 
to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  scene,  and  would  be  nice 
to  tell  about  at  home.  I  felt  myself  overflowing  with  a 
sudden,  new  tenderness  for  the  Set,  so  often  troublesome. 
This  that  was  going  to  happen  —  unless  we  could  stop 
it  —  was  in  truth  the  affair  of  Monny  and  Brigit,  Mabella 
Hanem  and  the  Bronsons,  Anthony  Fenton  and  me;  but 
all  would  be  involved,  the  innocent  with  the  guilty,  unless 


BENGAL  FIRE  357 

very  quickly  the  duffer  of  the  company  could  think  of 
some  way  out. 

"No,"  I  heard  myself  say  with  decision,  "we  mustn't 
leave  the  temple.  They're  superstitious  about  it.  Few, 
if  any,  will  venture  in.  What  they  want  is  to  lure  us  into 
the  open.  And  there  must  be  no  panic.  Certainly  my 
friend,  unless  he 's  been  hurt,  is  working  for  us  —  some- 
where. It's  only  a  question  of  minutes.  He  borrowed 

my  Browning  to-day.     I  wish "     I  glanced  toward 

Brigit  and  Monny.  They  stood  at  a  little  distance,  with 
Mrs.  Bronson  and  Mabel,  but  the  faces  of  both  were 
turned  toward  us.  I  saw  that  they  guessed  the  meaning 
of  the  uproar  outside.  Biddy's  great  soft  eyes  spoke  to 
mine,  spoke,  and  told  me  all  the  truth  about  myself. 
How  I  loved  her,  Biddy  O'Brien,  and  no  one  else  on  earth ! 
How  I  would  die  for  her,  and  let  all  the  rest  die,  if  need  be, 
yes,  even  Monny  Gilder,  to  whom  I  had  been  idiot  enough 
to  write  that  letter!  If  I  could  save  Biddy,  what  did 
anything  beside  matter?  But  —  yes,  it  did  matter.  I 
must  save  them  all.  And  the  light  that  had  lit  up  my 
dim  soul  gave  me  inspiration.  Because  I  loved  Biddy, 
I  knew  what  to  do. 

Tve  got  a  little  surprise  for  every  one!"  I  yelled,  to  be 
heard  over  the  noise  outside,  where  Rechid  Bey's  mob  was 
now  probably  trying  to  make  our  donkey-boys  and  ara~ 
beah-men  join  in  the  fight  or  the  siege.  "Mr.  Neill  Sher- 
idan will  kindly  lead  the  whole  party  to  the  sanctuary, 
which  his  knowledge  of  architecture  will  enable  him  to 
find,  on  the  axis  of  the  temple.  Down  that  passage, 
please !  In  fifteen  minutes  the  surprise  will  be  ready,  and 
you  will  receive  the  signal  to  return,  from  Mr.  Bronson, 


358  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

American  Consul  at  Asiut  —  no  time  for  introductions 
now. " 

Sheridan,  amazed,  but  perhaps  not  displeased,  emerged 
from  the  dark  corner  where,  until  the  row  began,  he  had 
been  examining  a  half -erased  wall-carving.  "Come 
along,  then,  everybody!"  he  shouted  good-naturedly; 
and  as  the  procession  formed  —  discussing  the  "surprise" 
and  the  noise,  now  mysteriously  linked  together  in  the 
minds  of  my  charges  —  I  saw  the  veiled  and  hooded 
Mabel  shyly  try  to  pull  Mrs.  Bronson  into  place  with  her, 
as  near  as  possible  to  Sheridan.  She  must  have  suspected 
that  there  was  trouble  brewing,  and  guessed  the  cause. 
Her  timid,  self-centred  little  soul  instinctively  sought 
shelter  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  friend,  who  would  per- 
haps have  been  more  than  a  friend,  if  he  could.  So  she 
followed  him,  he  not  knowing  what  eyes  the  gray  veil  hid : 
but  Mrs.  Bronson  broke  away  from  the  small  hand  and 
hurried  back  to  her  husband. 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"Go  with  the  others,"  he  said,  quietly.  "Take  care 
of  the  girl.  Lord  Ernest  has  some  plan." 

She  went  reluctantly;  but  Brigit  and  Monny  and  Mrs. 
East  lingered  at  the  tail  of  the  procession,  returning  to 
us  as  the  others  vanished  down  the  passage  that  led  to- 
ward the  sanctuary.  I  motioned  them  away,  but  Monny 
ran  forward,  while  Biddy  kept  Cleopatra  from  following. 
They  talked  together  and  argued,  Biddy's  arm  round  the 
taller  woman's  waist,  as  Monny  came  straight  to  me,  and 
put  into  my  hand  Anthony  Fenton's  pistol. 

"I  didn't  have  to  use  it,"  she  said.  "It's  all  loaded 
and  ready.  And  I'm  going  to  stay  here  with  you  and 


BENGAL  FIRE  359 

Mr.  Bronson,  to  help.  What  are  you  planning  to 
do?" 

"Please  run  away,"  I  said,  "and  take  Biddy  and  your 
aunt.  You  must.  That's  the  only  help  we  want " 

"Not  till  you  tell  me  what  you  mean  to  do." 

"Oh,  only  to  try  a  trick  to  frighten  those  Arab  sheep 
out  there.  They  funk  this  temple  at  night  anyhow.  And 
I've  just  remembered  that  I  brought  some  Bengal  fire 
to  light  the  place  up  and  amuse  the  crowd.  I  thought 
if  a  red  blaze  suddenly  burst  out  it  would  give  those  fellows 
a  scare  —  and  the  police  are  on  the  way " 

"But  the  Arabs  will  see  that  you're  only  two!" 

"They  shan't  see  us  at  all.  We'll  hide  behind  those 
statues  and  pot  at  them  if  they  do  come  in,  which  I  doubt. 
Now,  off  with  the  three  of  you!"  And  I  was  getting  my 
illumination  ready. 

To  my  surprise  and  relief,  Monny  obeyed  without 
further  argument.  Dimly  it  passed  through  my  mind 
that  she  had  been  profiting  by  her  lessons  lately.  I 
threw  one  glance  over  my  shoulder,  more,  I'm  afraid,  to 
see  whether  my  dear  Brigit  were  on  her  way  to  safety 
than  through  anxiety  for  Miss  Gilder.  The  three  figures 
had  already  disappeared  in  the  darkness,  and  Bronson 
and  I  gave  ourselves  to  the  work  of  lighting  up. 

An  ocean-roar  of  voices  surged  round  the  temple 
entrance  now;  but  the  red  light  flamed  like  the  fires  of 
hell,  and  I,  peeping  from  behind  a  statue,  revolver  in 
hand,  saw  that  the  temple  itself  had  not  been  invaded. 
The  flare  lit  the  foreground  of  the  darkness  outside,  and  the 
columns  of  the  front  court.  I  could  see  a  moving  throng 
of  white  and  black  clad  figures,  gesticulating,  running  to 


360  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

and  fro,  seeming  to  urge  each  other  to  some  action,  yet 
none  coming  forward.  I  sprinkled  on  more  powder,  and 
up  blazed  the  Bengal  fire  again.  Now  somebody  was 
taking  the  lead.  A  tall  man  was  pushing  through  the 
crowd.  Would  they  follow  this  brave  one?  My  fingers 
closed  round  the  Browning.  He  was  between  the  columns 
at  last,  but  the  light  was  dying  down.  I  threw  on  all  I 
had  of  the  powder,  and  stared  through  the  red  dazzle  to 
make  certain  what  was  happening  —  since  this  might 
decide  our  fate.  The  tall  man's  back  was  turned  to  us. 
He  seemed  to  be  motioning  the  crowd  away  instead  of 
urging  them  on.  How  to  make  sure,  in  the  blood- 
coloured  glare,  whether  a  man's  turban  was  white  or  green 
or  crimson?  But  that  gesture  —  that  lift  of  the  head! 
No  mistaking  that.  The  man  was  Antoun  —  Ahmed 
Antoun,  the  worshipful  Hadji,  haranguing  the  mob. 

Hardly  would  they  let  him  speak  at  first.  Those  on 
the  outskirts  tried  to  yell  him  down.  I  heard  the  word 
"traitor!"  and  before  the  light  ebbed  I  thought  I  caught 
sight  of  Rechid's  pale  face  under  the  red  tarboosh,  Rech- 
id's  broad  shoulders  in  European  coat,  edging  past  jeb- 
bahs  and  galabeahs,  toward  the  columns.  Then,  just 
as  the  light  died,  from  behind  us  in  the  temple  came  a 
cry.  Above  the  shouting  of  the  Hadji,  who  was  begin- 
ning to  make  himself  heard  by  the  crowd,  it  rang  out 
shrill  and  clear  —  a  woman's  voice :  Monny  Gilder's.  She 
called  on  the  name  of  Antoun,  and  then  was  silent. 

I  lifted  my  candle-lantern  —  all  that  was  left  to  illu- 
mine the  darkness,  and  saw  at  the  far  end  of  the  court 
shadowy  figures  struggling  together.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  there  were  not  two,  but  four  or  five.  I  ran  toward 


BENGAL  FIRE  361 

them,  and  Bronson  ran,  but  some  one  bounded  past  us 
both  —  a  tall  man  in  a  green  turban.  A  shot  was  fired 
after  him,  and  hit  a  statue.  I  heard  subconsciously  a 
miniature  crash  of  chipped  granite,  but  I  don't  think 
Anthony  heard,  or  had  heard  anything  since  that  call 
for  "Antoun!" 

He  had  dashed  ahead,  though  we  had  had  the  start 
and  were  running  fast.  Rounding  a  group  of  statues, 
erect  and  fallen,  I  saw  a  candle-lantern  on  the  floor,  and 
knew  that  Monny  —  and  perhaps  Biddy  —  had  not 
obediently  followed  the  procession  to  the  sanctuary, 
after  all.  They  had  waited  to  watch  and  listen,  hiding 
behind  the  black  statues  of  Sekhet,  and  men  who 
had  crept  in  by  another  way  —  doubtless  by  the  small 
Ptolemaic  gate  opening  on  the  lake  —  had  taken  them 
by  surprise. 

Anthony  had  got  to  the  shadowy  mass,  which  moved 
like  black,  wind-blown  clouds,  vague  and  shapeless, 
before  Bronson  and  I  were  near  enough  to  distinguish 
one  form  from  another.  As  for  our  eyes,  his  tall  figure 
blended  with  the  waving  shadows;  two  revolver  shots 
exploded  with  thunderous  reverberations.  We  did  not 
know  if  he,  or  another,  had  fired;  but  almost  simultan- 
eously with  the  second  shot  two  black  shapes  separated 
themselves  from  the  rest,  fleeing  into  darkness.  They 
took  the  way  by  which  they  must  have  come,  the  way 
leading  toward  the  gate  on  the  lake. 

Three  seconds  later  we  were  on  the  spot;  and  the  only 
shadows  left  resolved  themselves  under  my  candle  light 
into  the  forms  of  Brigit  O'Neill,  Monny  Gilder,  Anthony 
Fenton,  and  Mrs.  East  somewhat  in  the  background. 


362  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Monny's  hat  was  off,  and  Biddy's  was  apparently 
hanging  by  a  hatpin.  Their  hair  was  in  disorder,  a  rope 
of  Biddy's  falling  over  one  shoulder,  a  shining  braid 
of  Monny's  hanging  down  her  back.  Monny  seemed  to  be 
more  or  less  in  the  arms  of  Antoun,  but  only  vaguely  and 
by  accident.  Dimly  I  gathered  that  she  had  stumbled, 
and  he  had  saved  her  from  falling.  Biddy  was  fastening 
up  the  front  of  her  gray  chiffon  blouse,  which  was  open, 
and  torn.  Her  hands  trembled  and  I  could  see  that  her 
breast  rose  and  fell  convulsively;  for,  though  the  light  was 
dim,  I  was  looking  at  her,  while  I  merely  glanced  at  the 
others.  Mrs.  East  was  crying.  But  Brigit  and  Monny 
had  smiles  for  Bronson  and  me  as  we  came  blundering 
along,  stumbling  over  unseen  obstacles. 

"  Some  one  stole  up  behind  with  an  electric  torch,  and 
tried  to  drag  me  away,"  said  Monny,  in  a  weak  little 
voice,  scarcely  at  all  like  her  own.  It  sounded  as  if  a 
ventriloquist  were  imitating  her.  "Some  one  called  me 
Esme  O'Brien  —  whispered  right  in  my  ear.  And  I 
screamed,  and  fought,  and  Antoun  came.  I  think  then 
the  man  pushed  me  down  as  he  ran  away.  Anyhow  I 
fell,  and  Antoun  picked  me  up.  Oh,  Biddy,  are  you 
safe?  Why,  your  dress  is  torn!" 

"Yes,  but  I'm  safe,"  answered  another  small,  weak 
voice.  "  I  fought,  too.  I  —  I  think  they  wanted  to  rob 
me.  Thank  goodness,  I  didn't  have  it  on." 

"The  bag,  dearest?" 

"Yes,  darling,  the  bag.  I  thought  I  wouldn't  wear  it 
to-day." 

Out  in  the  night  the  yells  had  subsided  since  the  Had- 
ji's harangue,  if  not  wholly  because  of  it. 


BENGAL  FIRE  363 

"The  police  have  come,"  said  Anthony.  "It  oc- 
curred to  me  that  Rechid  and  some  friends  of  his  were 
cooking  up  a  plan,  and  while  I  was  getting  into  my  clothes 
in  the  village  it  jumped  into  my  head  what  it  might  be. 
So  on  my  way  out  to  the  temple  I  stopped  and  left  a 
warning.  We're  all  right  now.  And  I  don't  think  the 
Arab  lot  would  have  dared  venture  in  anyhow.  These 
chaps  who  sneaked  in  at  the  back  and  attacked  the 
ladies  were  dressed  like  the  rest,  but  I  doubt  they  were 
Arabs." 

He  would  have  doubted  still  more,  if  he  had  known  all 
that  I  knew.  But  the  one  secret  I'd  kept  from  him  was 
Biddy's  secret.  The  words  "Esme  O'Brien"  whispered 
to  Monny,  as  yet  meant  nothing  save  bewilderment  to 
Fenton. 

"The  fifteen  minutes  are  up,  and  no  signal  yet  for 
your  famous  surprise,"  called  out  Sir  John  Biddell's  com- 
plaining voice,  from  the  end  of  a  dark  passage.  "Has 
anything  gone  wrong?" 

"  Oh,  I  was  going  to  give  you  a  Bengal  fire  illumination 
of  the  temple,  for  a  climax,"  I  explained,  coming  suavely 
forward  to  meet  him  with  my  candle.  "But  the  beastly 
stuff  —  er  —  sort  of  went  off  by  itself,  and  it's  all  used 
up.  I  was  —  er  —  just  going  to  call  you." 

"Well,  not  much  harm  done,"  said  Sir  John.  "We've 
seen  the  sanctuary,  such  as  it  is.  A  little  disappointing^ 
perhaps,  especially  as  Mr.  Sheridan  found  a  friend  with 
Mrs.  Bronson,  the  Consul's  wife,  and  preferred  talking 
with  her  to  giving  out  information  to  us,  from  his  stores  of 
knowledge.  But  luckily  not  more  than  twenty  minutes 
wasted.  By  the  way,  what's  become  of  the  row  outside? 


364  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGPYT 

Seems  to  have  fizzled  down  while  we  were  away,  like  your 
red  fire." 

"Yes,  a  great  man  of  some  sort  was  addressing  the 
crowd.  But  the  police  came  along  and  made  it  move  on. 
There's  been  a  bit  of  native  grumbling  in  these  Nile 
towns  lately  —  you  may  have  read  some  paragraph  about 
it  in  the  Cairo  papers?  So  the  police  are  rather  quick 
to  break  up  meetings." 

"Why  should  men  meet  near  the  Temple  of  Mut?" 
inquired  Sir  John.  "7  shouldn't  think  of  doing  it." 

"Perhaps  in  the  beginning  they  hoped  to  get  something 
out  of  the  Europeans,"  said  I  lightly.  "But  they've 
given  that  up,  evidently." 

"I  hope  they  haven't  seduced  our  donkey -boys  and 
arabeah  drivers!"  exclaimed  Sir  John.  "I'm  hungry. 
And  I'm  in  a  hurry  to  get  home." 

"Not  they.  Donkey-boys  and  arabeah-men  aren't 
easily  seduced  when  there's  a  question  of  baksheesh. 
They're  all  right!  I'm  only  sorry  about  the  Bengal  fire." 

"Well,  it  was  a  good  idea,  anyhow,"  Sir  John  patron- 
ized me. 

"C'est  vrai,"  I  heard  murmur  in  his  chosen  language, 
the  Hadji,  who  had  saved  the  situation.  C'etait  une  idee 
ires  bien  pour  un  —  duffer." 


XXIV 
PLAYING  HEAVY  FATHER  TO  RACHEL 

NEVER  had  the  Enchantress  Isis  looked  so  enchanting 
to  my  eyes  as  she  looked  that  night.  I  felt,  as  the  Set 
trooped  on  board,  like  an  anxious  hen-mother  who,  con- 
trary to  her  fears,  has  safely  returned  a  brood  of  duck- 
lings to  the  home  chicken-coop  after  a  swim  out  to  sea. 
I  valued  each  duckling,  even  the  least  downy,  far  more 
than  I  had  dreamed  it  would  be  possible.  But  there  was 
one  duckling  valued  so  much  more  than  all  the  rest 
(how  much  more  I  had  realized  only  when,  cackling  on 
the  bank,  I  saw  it  on  the  wave)  —  that  knowing  it  was 
safe  made  me  hysterical  with  joy.  I  could  have  kissed 
its  napkin  when  it  slid  off  its  lap  and  I  picked  it  up  —  the 
napkin,  not  the  duck  —  at  dinner.  The  drawback  was 
that  I  had  not  saved  it,  as  Anthony  had  saved  Monny. 
It  had  no  reason  to  be  grateful  to  me,  or  care  more  than 
it  had  always  cared,  for  a  friend.  And  still  another 
drawback  presented  itself  when  the  confusion  of  dressing 
in  haste  and  dining,  as  the  Enchantress  Isis  steamed 
out  of  Luxor,  gave  me  time  to  think.  The  duckling  was 
not  my  duckling:  and  considering  that  it  had  calmly  laid 
plans  for  me  to  capture  an  heiress,  considering  also  that 
it  had  not  yet  abandoned  these  plans,  I  saw  little  reason 
to  hope  that,  now  I  had  come  to  a  few  —  just  a  few  —  of 

365 


366  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

my  senses  —  it  would  ever  take  the  idea  seriously,  of 
becoming  mine. 

To  abandon  once  and  forever  the  duckling  simile,  the 
first  thing  I  did  on  board  the  boat,  after  recovering  from 
the  excitement  of  seeing  Mabel  off  by  train  with  the  Bron- 
sons,  was  to  wonder  how  I  could  make  up  for  all  this 
hideous  waste  of  time  when  I  might  have  been  making 
love  to  Biddy.  But  there  was  no  chance  to  say  anything 
personal  to  her  that  night.  I  had  to  hear  —  and  wanted 
to  hear  —  the  story  of  all  that  had  happened  from  the 
moment  she  and  Monny  entered  Rechid  Bey's  gate,  to  the 
moment  they  came  out.  Then  there  was  Antoun's  story 
to  follow;  and  after  that  we  had  to  compare  notes:  how 
everybody  had  felt,  what  everybody  had  thought,  what 
everybody  had  done.  This  subject  was  inexhaustible, 
and  kept  cropping  up  in  the  midst  of  others;  but  that  of 
Mabella  Hanem,  her  escape  from  bondage  and  from 
"  conversion"  to  Islam,  and  what  revenge  Rechid  was  likely 
to  take,  was  almost  as  engrossing. 

When  at  last,  late  that  evening,  I  managed  to  get 
Biddy  alone  for  a  moment,  she  could  no  more  be  induced 
to  talk  of  herself  than  if  she  had  been  a  ghost  without 
visible  existence,  a  mere  voice,  to  speak  of  others,  Monny 
by  preference.  What  a  heroine  Monny  had  been  from 
first  to  last!  And  what  did  I  think  now  about  the  fool- 
ishness of  that  theory  —  the  theory  that  Bedr  was  a  spy, 
and  had  led  his  employers  to  believe  that  "Mrs.  Jones" 
was  travelling  with  her  stepdaughter  concealed  under  an 
impeccably  important  nom  de  guerre? 

What  I  thought  was,  that  we  must  get  hold  of  Miss 
Rachel  Guest,  and  question  her  as  to  her  whole  acquain- 


PLAYING  HEAVY  FATHER  TO  RACHEL    367 

tance  with  the  Armenian  learning  how,  by  all  that  was  in- 
credible, the  double  mystery  of  mixed  names  had  origi- 
nated. "Monny  knows  only  that  Rachel  was  supposed 
to  be  the  heiress,  testing  her  personal  attractions  by  pre- 
tending to  be  the  poor  school  teacher,"  said  Brigit.  "The 
child's  been  wildly  enjoying  the  situation,  for  she  was 
tired  of  young  men.  Rachel  wasn't!  And  Rachel's  been 
profiting  by  it  —  far  more  wickedly.  As  for  Esme,  I'm 
sure  no  thought  of  her  name  coming  into  this  business, 
ever  entered  Monny 's  head.  We  must  try  to  find  out 
what  Bedr  said  to  Rachel  at  the  beginning,  as  you  advise, 
Duffer  —  and  all  about  it.  After  what  I  told  you  that 
I  heard  from  Esme  about  an  exciting  love  romance,  any 
mistake  of  this  sort  might  be  particularly  dangerous.  The 
Organization  might  think  it  had  more  right  than  ever  to 
be  bitter  against  us.  And  now,  I  don't  mind  your  con- 
fiding in  your  friend  Captain  Fenton.  I  think  I'd  like 
him  to  know  my  story." 

What  Biddy  had  told  me  about  Esme  was,  that  the 
girl  had  confessed,  in  a  letter,  having  been  made  love  to 
(during  a  summer  holiday  in  the  mountains  with  friends) 
by  the  son  of  a  man  her  father  had  deeply  injured.  The 
accidental  meeting  had  been  a  real  romance:  the  girl 
and  the  young  man  thought  that  no  one,  save  themselves, 
shared  their  secret.  But  who  could  tell,  when  Fate  it- 
self stood  between  them  with  a  drawn  sword?  The  love 
of  Romeo  for  Juliet  was  a  safe  and  simple  affair  compared 
with  the  merest  flirtation  between  the  daughter  of  Rich- 
ard O'Brien  and  the  son  of  John  Halloran,  whom  O'Brien's 
testimony  had  sent  to  prison  for  life. 

Sometimes  I  thought,  as  the  days  went  on,  that  Biddy 


368  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

guessed  —  not  my  change  of  heart,  but  my  new  under- 
standing of  it:  and  that  she  wanted  quietly  and  gently  to 
show  me,  according  to  Bill  Bailey's  pet  expression,  there 
was  "nothing  doing."  Her  expressed  wish  that  Fenton 
should  hear  her  story,  looked  to  my  suddenly  suspicious 
mind  as  if  his  strong  personality  and  his  extremely 
picturesque  position  had  made  an  appeal  to  the  romance 
in  her,  as  it  had  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  East  and  perhaps 
Monny  Gilder.  Always  interested  in  "Mrs.  Jones," 
from  first  sight,  when  he  had  laughingly  said  that  the 
"little  sprite  of  a  woman"  would  be  almost  too  alluring 
if  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  mystery  and  intrigue, 
Anthony  was  now  frankly  preoccupied  with  her  affairs. 
He  was  not  even  annoyed  that,  unaided  by  me,  her  quick 
mind  had  grasped  the  secret  of  his  identity.  "It  was  like 
her  to  spring  on  to  it  by  instinct,"  he  said,  smiling  that 
thoughtful  smile  of  his,  which  wa-s  more  than  ever  effec- 
tive in  his  Arab  get  up.  "And  like  her  not  to  give  any- 
body else  a  hint,  except  you,  of  course  —  though  she  must 
have  been  tempted  sometimes.  I  suppose"  —  and  he 
looked  up  quickly  —  "she  hasn't  given  any  one  else  a 
hint?" 

"I'd  swear  she  hasn't." 

"Miss  Gilder  —  you're  sure  she  hasn't  the  slightest 
suspicion?" 

"As  sure  as  a  man  can  be  of  anything  about  a  woman." 

"You  aren't  trying  to  evade  the  question,  Duffer?" 

"On  my  word,  I'm  not.     I  feel  morally  certain  Miss 

Gilder  labours  under  the  impression  that  you're  as  brown 

as  you're  painted.      That  somehow  or  other  you  can't 

be  Moslem  because  she's  seen  you  without  a  turban,  and 


PLAYING  HEAVY  FATHER  TO  RACHEL  369 

you've  got  the  hair  of  a  Christian.  Maybe  she  thinks 
you're  a  Copt.  I  heard  her  learnedly  arguing  the  other 
day  that  the  Copts  are  the  only  real  Egyptians.  She  has 
the  air  of  studying  you,  sometimes :  but  with  all  her  study, 
she  sees  you  only  as  an  Egyptian  of  high  birth  and  attain- 
ments, with  a  few  drops  of  European  blood  in  your  veins, 
perhaps  just  enough  to  make  things  aggravating,  and  a 
vague  right  to  a  princely  position  if  you  chose  to  over- 
look something  or  other,  and  claim  it.  There  you  have 
her  conception  of  you,  in  a  nutshell." 

There  would  still  have  been  room  in  that  nutshell 
for  Cleopatra's  ideas  concerning  her  niece's  feelings.  But 
if  she  were  right,  it  was  Anthony's  business  to  discover 
those  feelings  for  himself,  provided  he  cared  to  do  so.  And 
of  this  I  was  not  sure.  There  was  the  doubt  that  it  might 
be  Biddy,  even  though  he  appeared  to  attach  some  unex- 
plained importance  to  Miss  Gilder's  continued  ignorance 
about  himself. 

The  day  after  leaving  Luxor,  there  was  no  time  for  the 
heart  to  heart  talk  I  planned  with  Rachel  Guest.  Each 
hour,  each  minute  almost,  was  taken  up  with  my  duties 
as  Conductor,  which  I  was  obliged  to  regard  seriously, 
whether  I  liked  them  or  no.  If  I  did  not,  the  Set  growled, 
snapped  or  clamoured;  which  gave  me  even  more  trouble 
than  doing  my  duty. 

For  some  reason  best  known  to  herself  (but  suspected 
by  me)  Mrs.  East  kept  to  her  suite,  nursing  a  grievance 
and  the  Siberian  lap-dog  from  Asiut.  This  saved  me  a 
certain  amount  of  brain  strain,  for  among  other  places  of 
interest  we  had  to  pass  near  was  ancient  Hermonthis, 
where  in  her  Cleopatra  incarnation  she  had  built  a  temple 


370  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

with  a  portrait  of  herself  adoring  the  patron  Bull  of  the 
city.  If  she  had  known  how  easy  it  would  be  to  visit 
the  ruins,  she  would  have  been  capable  of  desiring  the 
boat  to  stop,  or  telegraphing  complaints  to  Sir  Marcus 
if  it  hadn't. 

The  two  excitements  of  the  day  were  passing  through 
a  huge  lock  (with  sides  like  those  of  a  canyon,  and  scar- 
let doors  such  as  might  adorn  the  house  of  an  ogre)  in 
which  we  nearly  stuck,  and  were  saved  by  Antoun  seizing 
the  pole  from  the  inferior  hands  of  a  Nubian  boatman; 
also  a  visit  to  Esneh,  a  very  Coptic  town,  starred  with 
convents  built  by  the  ever-present  Saint  Helena,  sacred 
once  to  the  Latos  fish,  now  sacred  to  gorgeous  baskets  of 
every  size  and  colour,  also  somewhat  over- beaded,  and 
over-scarabed.  A  ruined  quay  jutted  into  the  wine- 
brown  water,  where  Roman  inscriptions  could  have  been 
spied  out,  if  any  one  had  had  eyes  to  spare  from  the  bas- 
ket sellers,  the  sellers  of  grape-fruit,  and  all  the  other 
shouting  merchants  who  flocked  to  head  us  off  on  our  way 
to  the  temple,  despite  a  flurry  of  rain  that  freckled  the 
deep  sand  of  the  landing  hill.  But  nobody  did  have  eyes 
for  anything  Roman,  now  that  Cleopatra  sulked  in  her 
throne-room,  and  our  only  archeologist  was  as  absent- 
minded  as  if  he  had  been  his  own  astral  body.  He  had 
seen  the  wisdom  of  "sticking  to  the  trip,"  and  not  turning 
back  by  train  with  the  Bronsons  and  Somebody  Else,  as 
he  may  have  yearned  to  do  (if  Monny  were  right) :  but 
History  had  suddenly  become  as  dry  husks  to  Sheridan. 
His  soul  was  no  longer  with  us,  journeying  up  the  Nile; 
and  I  suspected  his  body  of  packing  to  join  it,  as  soon  as 
things  had  been  arranged  to  un-Hanem  Mabel,  and  send 


PLAYING  HEAVY  FATHER  TO  RACHEL    371 

her,  freed  from  a  marriage  which  was  not  marriage,  freed 
from  this  fear  or  forcible  conversion,  home  to  the  United 
States. 

It  was  just  on  the  cards,  Anthony  and  I  thought, 
that  there  might  be  another  "demonstration"  at  Esneh, 
that  unruly  town  where  Mohammed  Ali  banished  the 
superfluous  dancing  girls  of  Cairo  in  the  eighteen  forties. 
If  Rechid  Bey  had  not  discovered  the  truth  about  that 
hurried  departure  from  Luxor  for  Asiut  (as  a  matter  of 
fact,  Mabel  and  her  guardians  were  almost  thrown  on 
board  as  the  train  began  to  move)  he  might  have  sent 
emissaries,  or  come  himself  to  Esneh,  where  he  must  have 
known  the  Enchantress  Isis  would  land.  As  for  Bedr 
and  his  employers,  Anthony  (who  now  knew  Biddy's 
suspicions)  was  inclined  to  think  that,  even  if  she  were 
right,  we  had  seen  the  last  of  them.  After  such  a.  set- 
back as  that  in  the  Temple  of  Mut,  he  thought  they  would 
not  only  be  discouraged  but  frightened.  They  had  run 
away  from  us,  in  the  temple;  and  despite  the  proverb 
concerning  those  who  fight  and  run,  to  fight  another  day, 
it  was  probable  that  men  of  their  calibre  would  see  the 
wisdom  of  abandoning  the  chase.  They  had  shown  them- 
selves cowards,  Anthony  thought,  whatever  their  object 
had  been  in  attacking  Miss  O'Brien  and  Miss  Gilder:  and 
though  we  must  be  on  the  watch  during  the  rest  of  the 
trip,  his  idea  was  that  the  men  had  retreated  in  fear  of 
arrest. 

In  any  case,  we  had  no  trouble  at  Esneh,  and  saw  no 
sinister  faces  peering  out  of  low  doorways  in  the  bazaars, 
or  over  the  heads  of  the  pretty  (sometimes  fair  and  blue- 
eyed)  dancing  girls'  descendants. 


372 

Buried  in  the  heart  of  the  village  we  came  upon  the 
temple.  Only  the  portico  was  visible  under  piled  houses 
and  a  triumphant  mosque;  but  once  we  were  down  in 
the  entombed  temple  itself,  it  gave  a  sense  of  secrecy, 
and  mystic  rites,  to  look  up  from  under  the  dark  roof 
of  heavy  stone  with  its  painted  zodiac,  out  from  hidden 
halls  of  carving  and  colour,  to  the  clustered  houses  of 
dried  brick  built  before  the  temple  was  uncovered.  There 
was  a  sense  of  tragedy  and  failure,  too,  toiling  up  the 
steep  slope  to  the  town  level,  and  passing,  on  the  half- 
buried  walls,  gigantic  carved  figures  making  thwarted 
gestures,  in  commemoration  of  kingly  triumphs  forgotten 
hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  years  ago. 

At  night  there  was  fantasia  on  board,  with  our  boatmen 
dancing  each  other  down,  like  Highlanders,  and  the  next 
day  brought  us  to  Edfu,  which  all  the  women  were  wild  to 
see  because  Robert  Hichens  had  called  its  green-blue  the 
"true  colour  of  love":  an  adorable  temple  sacred  to 
Horus,  as  there  he  conquered  and  killed  Set. 

It  was  only  after  we  had  passed  Sir  Ernest  Cassell's 
red  house,  with  the  smoky  irrigation  works  where  four- 
teen hundred  Arabs  have  chased  the  desert  into  the  back- 
ground, and  after  we  had  visited  the  splendid  twin  temples 
of  Light  and  Darkness  at  Kom  Ombo,  towering  majes- 
tically above  the  Nile  bank,  that  I  found  time  to  catechize 
and  lecture  Miss  Guest.  I  contrived  to  separate  her  from 
her  sculptor,  and  lure  her  to  a  part  of  the  deck  unfre- 
quented because  it  was  windy.  Rachel  was  looking 
happy,  young  and  prosperous,  in  one  of  Monny's  most 
becoming  (and  expensive)  dresses. 

At  first,  I  think  she  felt  inclined  to  be  flattered  by  my 


PLAYING  HEAVY  FATHER  TO  RACHEL     373 

desire  for  her  society,  for  I  had  never  yet  wished  her 
joy,  or  formally  congratulated  Bailey.  One  look  inte 
my  eyes,  with  those  clever,  slanting  green  orbs  of  hers, 
however,  and  instinct  must  have  told  her  that  my  in- 
tention was  different.  She  glanced  round  for  an  excuse 
to  escape,  but  found  none,  for  I  hedged  her  in  from  all 
her  friends.  Then  she  quickly  decided  to  shunt  me  off 
on  an  emergency  track  laid  by  herself. 

"What  a  wonderful  day  it's  been!"  she  remarked. 
And  Kom  Ombo  is  one  of  the  best  temples.  The  only  thing 
I  didn't  like  was  those  mummied  crocodiles.  Their 
smiles  look  so  hypocritical,  and  to  think  they've  been 
smiling  them  for  thousands  of  years " 

"It  must  be  unpleasant  to  smile  the  smile  of  a  hypo- 
crite, even  for  a  few  weeks,"  I  seized  the  chance  to  work 
up  to  business. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  agreed  Miss  Guest  a  slight  colour  stain- 
ing her  cheeks.  "And  didn't  you  notice  several  new  sorts 
of  wall-inscriptions?" 

"Yes,"  I  admitted.  "But  if  you  don't  mind,  I'd  like 
to  skip  sixteen  or  seventeen  centuries  and  come  down  to 
you.  I've  been  wanting  a  chat " 

"Why,  I'm  delighted!"  she  exclaimed,  frightened,  but 
all  the  more  ingratiating.  "Oh,  isn't  the  Nile  beautiful 
as  we  come  toward  Nubia?  And  aren't  the  sakkiyehs 
more  interesting  than  the  shadoofs,  which  they  use  mostly 
when  the  river  is  low?  Willis  said  quite  a  lovely  thing, 
about  the  sakkiyehs:  that  their  chains  of  great  water 
cups,  going  up  and  down,  look  like  enormous  strings  of 
red  and  green  prayer-beads,  being  'told'  by  unseen  hands. 
He  ought  to  be  a  poet,  he's  so  romantic." 


374  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"No  doubt  everything  about  you,  Miss  Guest,  must 
make  an  appeal  to  his  romantic  side,"  I  cut  in,  while  she 
was  forced  to  pause  for  breath. 

"I  hope  I  do  appeal  to  him,"  she  said,  meekly,  "I 
never  thought  to  be  so  happy."  This  was  a  direct  appeal 
to  me;  and  it  hit  the  mark.  I  didn't  care  a  rap  about 
Willis  Bailey,  or  his  sketches  or  the  wooden  statues  with 
crystal  eyes  which  he  was  going  to  make  the  fashion.  If 
Miss  Guest  chose  to  hook  her  shining  fish  with  a  false  fly 
it  wasn't  my  business.  It  was  hers  and  his,  and  perhaps 
Monny's,  for  Monny  had  backed  Rachel  up  in  creating  a 
wrong  impression,  as  if  they  two  had  been  playing  to- 
gether, like  children,  to  trick  the  grown-ups.  But  I  had 
to  find  out  what  had  started  the  ball  rolling,  because  it 
looked  as  if  that  ball  had  come  out  of  the  pocket  of  Bedr. 

"I'm  glad  you're  happy,"  I  said,  "and  my  hope  is 
that  you'll  remain  so.  I  wish  you  so  well,  that  perhaps 
you'll  give  me  the  right  to  ask  a  few  questions.  You  see, 
I'm  one  of  your  oldest  friends  in  Egypt,  after  Miss  Gilder 
and  her  aunt  —  and  Mrs.  Jones.  You  met  Miss  Gilder 
and  Mrs.  East  travelling  in  France,  they've  told  me — : — " 

"Yes,  in  a  dining-car.  We  were  put  at  the  same  table, 
and  got  talking.  I  just  loved  Monny  at  first  sight,  and 
she's  been  heavenly  to  me.  What  fun  we've  had!  I 
never  had  any  fun  before.  I  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of 
the  word." 

"I  suppose  it  must  have  amused  you  and  Miss  Gilder," 
I  planted  my  arrow  at  last,  though  not  remorselessly, 
"this  quaint  idea  that's  got  round,  about  your  having 
changed  places." 

Rachel's   face   crimsoned.     "Oh,   Lord   Ernest!"   she 


PLAYING  HEAVY  FATHER  TO  RACHEL     375 

sighed  in  an  explosive  whisper,  with  a  glance  round  to  see 
if  any  one  were  near.  But  we  were  alone  with  the  begin- 
nings of  a  sunset,  that  flushed  the  dun  hills  as  unripe 
peaches  are  flushed  on  a  garden  wall.  "I've  promised 
Monny  not  to  say  a  word  and  spoil  her  fun,  as  long  as  the 
trip  lasts.  She's  finding  out,  you  see,  which  people  are 
really  attracted  to  her,  for  herself.  She  says  it's  a  won- 
derful experience  —  and  it's  given  her  such  a  rest  from 
men :  the  silly  ones,  you  know.  It  isn't  my  fault.  I'd  tell 
in  a  minute  if  she'd  let  me." 

"Was  it  she  who  began  the  game?"  I  dared  to  inquire. 
"Or  was  it  Bedr?  Now,  this  is  a  question  I  really  have 
a  right  to  ask.  I'll  tell  you  why  afterward,  if  you  don't 
know  already  from  Monny." 

"No,  I  don't  think  Monny 's  said  anything  to  make 
me  understand  that,"  Rachel  answered,  stammering  a 
little,  and  trying  pathetically  not  to  look  anxious.  "But 
I'll  answer  you,  of  course.  There's  nothing  to  hide  from 
you  —  now  —  that  I  can  see.  It  was  Bedr  who  began. 
He  was  the  most  intelligent,  extraordinary  person!  I 
don't  believe  any  one  fully  realized  it,  except  me.  But 
from  that  first  night  at  Alexandria,  he  seemed  to  feel  that 
I  saw  something  of  value  behind  his  poor  face.  He  was 
very  sensitive.  And  he  attached  himself  to  me  hi  the  most 
beautiful,  faithful  way.  Really  and  truly,  if  there  hadn't 
come  that  trouble  about  the  hasheesh  place  (which  wasn't 
his  fault,  because  Monny  wanted  to  go,  and  when  she 
wants  things  she  wants  them  very  much)  I  believe  I  could 
have  made  a  Christian  of  him.  He  would  have  been  a 
wonderful  convert !  We  talked  more  about  religion  than 
anything  else,  but  he  used  to  like  to  chat  about  America, 


376  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

because  he'd  been  there,  and  hoped  to  go  again.  That 
was  the  way  the  joke  about  Monny  and  me  started.  He 
did  ask  me  not  to  speak  of  it,  but  it  can't  matter  now.  He 
told  me  when  he  was  in  New  York,  with  a  family  who  took 
him  from  Egypt,  one  day  the  great  Mr.  Gilder's  daughter 
was  pointed  out  to  him  in  the  street.  She  was  with  her 
father,  in  an  automobile,  but  there  was  a  block  in  the 
traffic:  a  policeman  was  keeping  it  back,  so  he  saw  her 
distinctly  for  several  minutes,  and  he  was  interested,  be- 
cause his  employers  told  him  how  important  the  Gilders 
were,  and  how  Mr.  Gilder  used  to  have  his  daughter 
guarded  every  minute  for  fear  she  might  be  kidnapped 
for  ransom,  as  several  rich  people's  children  had  been. 
Monny  couldn't  have  been  more  than  fourteen  then,  as 
it's  seven  years  ago;  and  Bedr  said  that  the  little  girl  he 
saw  in  the  automobile  was  exactly  like  me  —  hardly  at  all 
like  what  Monny  is  now.  He  wanted  me  to  tell  him,  for 
a  reason  which  he  vowed  and  swore  was  very  important, 
whether  I  wasn't  really  Miss  Gilder,  and  she  Miss  Guest." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  I  thought  the  idea  so  funny,  so  thoroughly 
quaint,  you  know,  and  like  something  in  a  book,  that  just 
for  fun  I  answered  that  I  couldn't  tell  him  anything  until 
I'd  consulted  my  friend.  Monny  nearly  went  wild  about 
it.  She  said  she'd  come  to  Egypt  to  have  adventures 
and  she  was  going  to  have  them,  no  matter  whether 
'school  kept  or  not'.  That's  just  a  little  slang  expres- 
sion, people  use  at  home,  sometimes.  I  daresay  you've 
heard  her  say  much  the  same  thing.  She  said  this  idea 
of  Bedr's  was  too  good  to  miss,  and  we'd  get  bushels  of  fun 
out  of  it.  So  we  have  —  in  different  ways.  And  she's 


PLAYING  HEAVY  FATHER  TO  RACHEL    377 

been  lovely,  about  giving  me  dresses  and  things.  When 
she  and  I  talked  the  matter  over,  she  understood  why 
Bedr  should  have  thought  she  was  more  like  me,  at  the 
age  of  fourteen,  than  like  her  present  self.  She'd  had 
typhoid  fever  just  before  the  time  she  must  have  been 
pointed  out  to  him,  and  it  had  left  her  thin  as  a  rail,  and 
as  pale  as  a  ghost.  Her  hair  was  short,  too,  and  some  of 
the  colour  had  been  burnt  out  of  it  by  the  fever.  Now, 
you  know,  she  has  a  brilliant  complexion,  and  her  face 
is  much  rounder  than  mine,  as  well  as  more  pink  and 
white.  Compared  to  her,  I  am  sallow,  I'm  afraid,  and 
lanky :  and  when  she  and  I  stand  together,  her  hair  looks 
bright  gold,  and  mine  light  brown  in  comparison. 

"Monny  wouldn't  let  me  tell  Bedr  right  out  that  he 
was  mistaken  about  us.  She  said  we  wouldn't  fib,  but 
we'd  act  self-conscious,  as  if  we  had  a  secret,  and  he'd 
stumbled  on  it.  He  must  have  started  the  story  —  oh, 
if  you  could  call  it  a  story !  I  don't  believe  anything  has 
ever  been  put  into  words.  It  was  in  the  air.  People 
got  the  idea.  But  Bedr  must  have  put  it  into  their 
heads.  Neither  Monny  nor  I  did  more  than  smile  and 
look  away,  and  change  the  subject  if  any  one  hinted.  We 
said,  'You  mustn't  breathe  such  things  to  Mrs.  East  or 
Mrs.  Jones,  or  they'll  be  angry.'  Apparently  nobody 
ever  did  dare  to  breathe  it  to  them.  And  I  think  Monny 
mentioned  you,  too,  Lord  Ernest.  She  didn't  want  you 
to  know.  She  was  afraid  you'd  say  that  the  whole  thing 
was  nonsense.  I  suppose  it  was  Enid  BiddeLl  who  came 
to  you?  She  was  afraid  Mr.  Snell  —  but  it  isn't  worth 
talking  about,  now.  Only  she  is  a  cat." 

Miss  Biddell   had    said   exactly    the    same   of    Miss 


378  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Guest.  Naturally,  however,  I  did  not  mention  the 
coincidence. 

"Now  I've  told  you  everything  you  wanted  to  know, 
haven't  I?"  Rachel  went  on.  " Or  were  there  any  more 
questions  you'd  like  to  ask  —  I  mean,  about  Bedr?" 

"Only  one  more,  I  think.  Did  it  ever  strike  you  that 
he  was  curious  about  you  —  or  rather,  about  Miss  Gilder 
who,  you  both  let  him  suppose,  was  really  Miss  Guest? 
Anything  about  your  name?" 

"Why,  yes,  he  was  curious.  They  say  Arabs  always 
are,  if  you  let  them  be.  Not  that  he  is  exactly  an  Arab. 
But  I  suppose  Armenians  are  the  same.  He  seemed  to 
want  to  know  things  about  me  —  what  I'd  done,  where 
I'd  lived,  and  —  oh,  lots  of  little  questions  he  would 
ask.  Monny  and  I  made  up  our  minds  from  the  first,  as  I 
told  you,  that  there  mustn't  be  any  fibs.  I  simply  put 
him  off.  He  never  got  anything  out  of  me  at  all." 

"t  see,"  I  said;  and  let  myself  drift  away  from  her 
into  thoughtfulness. 

"Is  that  all,  then?" 

"Yes,  that  is  all,  thank  you." 

Her  tone  sounded  as  if  she  were  relieved  of  a  mental 
weight,  and  would  like  to  go.  I  expected  her  to  make 
some  excuse:  it  would  soon  be  time  to  dress  for  dinner: 
or  she  had  a  letter  to  write.  But  no,  she  lingered.  She 
was  trying  to  bring  herself  to  say  something.  I  waited, 
in  silence,  my  eyes  on  the  shining  river,  looking  back  at 
the  golden  trail  of  the  sun  that  was  like  a  rich  mantle 
draping  a  gondola  on  a  fete  day  in  Venice. 

"I  suppose  you  think,"  she  forced  the  words  out  at 
last,  "that  Willis  Bailey  wouldn't  have  —  fallen  in  love 


PLAYING  HEAVY  FATHER  TO  RACHEL     379 

—  or  proposed  —  if  he  hadn't  thought  like  the  rest,  that 
I  — I-  -" 

"I  don't  see  why  he  shouldn't,  Miss  Guest." 

"He  —  really  does  seem  to  care  for  me  —  as  I  am,  you 
know.  And  I've  never  told  him  a  single  untruth.  I've 
nothing  to  blame  myself  for." 

"I'm  sure  of  that." 

"Yet  you  don't  approve  of  me  —  one  bit.  You  think 
I'm  a  —  kind  of  adventuress.  So  does  Mrs.  Jones.  Me! 
Why,  what  would  the  people  at  home  in  Salem  say  if 
any  one  suggested  such  a  thing?  You  don't  know  the 
life  I've  led,  Lord  Ernest." 

"I  can  imagine.  You  don't  want  to  go  back  to  it 
again,  do  you?" 

"It  does  seem  as  if  I  couldn't,  now.  It's  seemed  so, 
even  before  Willis  —  oh,  I'm  sure  you  think  I  never 
meant  to  go  back,  once  I'd  broken  free  from  the  dull 
grind." 

"No  harm  in  that!" 

"I'm  glad  you  say  so.  I  took  all  my  legacy  to  see  the 
world  a  little  —  well,  nearly  all,  not  quite,  perhaps,  to 
tell  the  truth.  And  being  brave  has  brought  me  this 
reward:  the  love  of  a  man  who  can  give  me  everything 
worth  having.  I  shan't  be  outside  life  any  more.  And 
Willis  won't  have  any  reason  to  blame  me  when  he  — 
when  he " 

"No  reason,  of  course,"  I  fitted  into  her  long  pause. 
"But  men  as  well  as  women  are  unreasonable,  sometimes, 
you  know.  And  if  he  should  be  so  —  er  —  wrong-headed 
as  to  think  you'd  deceived  him  about  yourself " 

"Then  he  ought  to  blame  Monny,  not  me!" 


380  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"He  ought,  perhaps.  But  the  question  is,  what  he 
will  do.  And  you  can't  like  having  a  sword  hanging  over 
your  head?  Supposing  he  should  be  unjust,  and  refuse 
to  carry  out 

"Oh,  Lord  Ernest,  you  don't  think  he  will,  after  he's 
sworn  that  I'm  the  only  woman  in  the  world  he  could 
ever  have  loved?  He  thinks  me  much  better  looking  than 
Monny.  He  says  she  hasn't  got  a  soul,  yet.  He  doubts 
if  she  ever  will  have  one." 

I  didn't  doubt  it.  I  thought  I  had  heard  it  stirring 
in  the  throes  of  birth,  a  soul  such  as  would  blind  the  eyes 
of  a  Rachel  Guest,  with  its  white  shining.  Monny  had 
said  that  she  would  "find  her  soul  in  Egypt."  But  the 
mention  of  this  was  not  indicated  just  then. 

"I  haven't  the  courage  to  tell  him,  even  if  there  were 
really  anything  definite  enough  to  tell,"  Rachel  went  on. 
"It  would  be  insulting  a  man  like  Willis  to  suggest  that 
he'd  been  influenced  —  you  know  what  I  mean.  But  — 
now  we're  talking  of  it  —  oh,  do  advise  me !  We're 
planning  to  be  married  in  Egypt,  at  the  end  of  this  trip, 
and  then  settle  down  in  Cairo,  for  Mr.  Bailey's  studies 
at  the  museum.  He  came  up  the  Nile  only  for  me,  you 
see!  And  he  says  I  shall  be  his  first  model  for  the  new 
style  —  my  eyes  are  just  right,  as  if  they'd  been  made 
on  purpose  to  help  him.  I  lie  awake  nights  wondering 
what  if,  before  the  wedding,  when  he  finds  out  for  certain 
that  my  name  is  really  only  Rachel  Guest,  and  that  I'm 
I  —  oh,  I  daren't  think  of  it!" 

"Then,  if  you  want  me  to  advise,  why  don't  you  in 
some  tactful,  perhaps  joking  way,  speak  of  the  story  Bedr 
started,  and " 


PLAYING  HEAVY  FATHER  TO  RACHEL     381 

"I  can't  —  I  simply  can't." 

"Yet  you  feel  it  would  be  better?" 

"Yes  —  sometimes  I  feel  it.  You  help  me,  Lord  Er- 
nest. You  tell  him.  And  then,  if  you  see  any  signs  — 
you'll  make  him  understand  how  dreadful  it  would  be 
to  throw  me  over  because  I'm  poor  and  have  been  a 
nobody  till  now?" 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  I  heard  myself  weakly  promising. 

No  wonder  I  have  earned  the  nickname  of  Duffer! 


XXV 
MAROONED 

HAD  any  human  fly  ever  buzzed  himself  so  fatally  into 
the  spider-webs  of  other  people's  love  affairs?  I  asked 
myself  sternly.  As  soon  as  Providence  plucked  me  out 
of  one  web,  back  I  would  bumble  into  another,  though  I 
had  no  time  for  a  love  affair  of  my  own. 

When  the  Enchantress  Isis  had  slipped  past  many 
miles  of  desert  shore,  black-striped  and  tawny  as  a 
leopard's  skin,  and  other  desert  shores  so  fiercely  yellow 
as  to  create  an  effect  of  sunshine  under  gray  skies,  we 
arrived  at  Assuan.  I  had  not  yet  kept  my  promise  to 
Rachel,  though  whether  from  lack  of  opportunity  or 
courage  I  was  not  sure. 

Here  we  were  at  historic  Assuan;  and  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, nothing  which  could  be  written  down  in  black  and 
white,  since  the  excitements  at  Luxor.  Nevertheless,  some 
of  us  were  different  within,  and  the  differences  were  due, 
directly  or  indirectly,  to  those  excitements. 

Now  we  were  nearing  Ethiopia,  alias  the  Land  of 
Cush,  though  Monny  said  she  could  not  bear  to  have  it 
called  by  that  name,  except,  of  course,  in  the  Bible, 
where  it  couldn't  be  helped.  How  would  any  of  us  like 
to  "register"  at  an  hotel  as  Mr.  or  Miss  So-and-So,  of 
Cush?  Oshkosh  sounded  more  romantic. 

382 


MAROONED  383 

No  land,  however,  could  look  more  romantic  than  As- 
suan,  City  of  the  Cataracts,  Greek  Syene,  that  granite 
quarry  whose  red  syenite  made  obelisks  and  sarcophagi 
for  kings  of  countless  dynasties.  "Suan,"  as  the  Copts 
renamed  it  (a  frontier  town  of  Egypt  since  the  days  of 
Ezekiel  the  prophet),  now  appeared  a  gay  place,  made  for 
pleasure-pilgrims. 

Sky  and  river  were  dazzling  blue,  and  the  sea  of  sand 
was  a  sea  of  gold,  the  dark  rocks  lying  like  tamed 
monsters  at  the  feet  of  Khnum,  god  of  the  Cataract/ 
glittered  bright  as  jet,  over  which  a  libation  of  red  wine 
had  gushed.  The  river-front  of  the  town,  with  its 
hotels  and  shops,  was  brightly  coloured  as  a  row  of 
shining  shells  from  a  southern  sea;  tints  of  pink  and 
blue  and  amber,  translucently  clear  in  contrast  with  the 
dark  green  of  lebbek  trees  and  palms,  in  whose  shadow 
flowers  burned,  like  rainbow-tinted  flames  of  driftwood. 
Between  our  eyes  and  the  brilliant  picture,  a  network  of 
thin  dark  lines  was  tangled,  as  if  an  artist  had  defaced  his 
canvas  with  scratches  of  a  drying  brush.  These  scratches 
were  in  reality  the  masts  of  moored  feluccas,  bristling 
close  to  the  shore  like  a  high  hedge  of  flower  stems,  stripped 
of  blossoms  and  bent  by  driving  wind. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  the  desert  crouched 
like  a  lion  who  flings  back  his  head  with  a  shake  of  yellow 
mane,  before  he  stoops  to  drink.  And  in  the  midst  of  the 
stream  rose  Elephantine  Island,  with  its  crown  of  feathery 
palms,  its  breastwork  of  Roman  ruins  (a  medal  of  fame 
for  the  kings  it  gave  to  Egypt)  and  its  undying  lullaby 
sung  by  the  cataract,  among  surrounding  rocks. 

Very  strange  rocks  they  were,  black  as  wet  onyx, 


384  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

though  for  thousands  of  years  they  had  been  painted 
rose  by  sunrise  and  sunset;  shapes  of  animal  gods,  shapes 
of  negro  slaves,  shapes  of  broken  obelisks  and  fallen 
temples;  shapes  of  elephants  like  those  seen  first  by 
Egyptians  on  this  island;  shapes  which  one  felt  could 
never  have  taken  form  except  in  Egypt. 

Over  our  heads  armies  of  migrating  birds  made  a  net- 
work like  a  great  floating  scarf  of  beads,  each  bead  a  bird : 
and  the  blue  water  round  the  slow-gliding  Enchantress 
was  crowded  with  boats  of  so  many  hitherto  un- 
known sorts,  that  they  might  have  been  visiting  craft 
from  another  world:  feluccas  with  sails  red  or  white,  or 
painted  in  strange  patterns,  or  awninged;  some  with  rails 
like  open  trellis  work  of  many  colours,  over  which  dark 
faces  shone  like  copper  in  the  sunshine;  rowing  boats, 
"galleys"  with  fluttering  flags,  and  old  soap-boxes 
roughly  lined  with  tin,  in  which  naked  imps  of  boys  peril- 
ously paddled.  Out  from  the  boats  rushed  music  in 
clouds  like  incense;  wild,  African  music  of  chanting 
voices,  beating  tom-toms,  or  clapping  hands  that  clacked 
together  like  castanets.  Very  old  men  and  very  young 
youths  thumped  furiously  on  earthen  drums  shaped  like 
the  jars  of  Elephantine,  once  so  famous  that  they  trav- 
elled the  length  of  Egypt  filled  with  wine.  The  breeze 
that  fanned  to  us  from  beyond  the  palms  and  lebbeks, 
the  roses  and  azaleas,  was  soft  and  flower-laden.  There 
was  a  scent  in  it,  too,  as  of  ripe  grapes,  as  if  a  fragrance 
lingered  from  vanished  days  when  wine  for  the  gods  was 
made  from  Elephantine  vineyards,  and  fig-trees  never 
lost  their  leaves.  We  ourselves,  and  our  big  three-decked 
boat  were  alone  in  our  modernity,  if  one  forgot  the  line 


MAROONED  385 

of  gay  buildings  on  the  shore.  Everything  else  might 
have  been  of  the  time  when  the  world  supposed  Elephan- 
tine to  be  placed  directly  on  the  Tropic  of  Cancer,  and 
believed  in  the  magic  lamp  which  lit  the  unfathomable 
well;  the  time  when  quarries  of  red  and  yellow  clay 
gave  riches  to  the  island,  and  all  Egypt  thanked  its  gods 
when  Elephantine's  Nilemeter  showed  that  the  Two  Lands 
would  be  plentifully  watered. 

Most  of  us  were  going  to  live  on  board  the  Enchant- 
ress for  our  three  days  at  Assuan;  but,  hearing  that 
lords  and  ladies  of  high  degrees  swarmed  at  the  Cat- 
aract Hotel  with  its  wild,  watery  view  of  tumbled  rocks, 
and  at  the  Savoy  in  its  flowery  gardens,  some  went  where 
they  might  hope  to  cross  the  path  of  dukes  and  duchesses. 

The  Monny-ites  were  not  "wild"  about  the  aristocracy, 
nor  would  royalty  (of  later  date  than  the  Ptolemies) 
have  lured  Cleopatra  from  her  suite  on  the  boat.  But 
the  whole  party  was  eager  for  shore,  and  no  sooner  had 
the  Enchantress  put  her  foot  on  the  yellow  sands  than 
she  was  deserted  by  her  passengers.  The  bazaars  were 
the  first  attractions,  for  "everybody  said"  that  they  were 
as  fine  in  their  way  as  the  bazaars  of  Cairo;  so  very  soon 
we  were  all  buying  silver,  ivory,  stuffed  crocodiles  and 
ostrich  feathers  from  the  Sudan,  which  now  opened  its 
gates  not  far  ahead:  the  Sudan,  mysterious,  unknown, 
and  vast. 

Cleopatra  clung  to  me,  with  a  certain  wistfulness,  as 
if  in  this  incarnation  she  were  not  so  intimately  at  home 
in  Upper  Egypt  as  she  had  hoped  to  be.  Perhaps  this 
loneliness  of  her  soul  was  due  to  the  fact  that  instead 
of  seeking  her  society,  "Anthony  with  an  H"  seldom 


386  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

came  near  her  now.  Something  had  warned  him  off. 
He  would  never  tell  me  or  any  one  on  earth:  but,  un- 
used to  the  ways  of  women  as  he  was,  I  felt  sure  that  he 
had  been  uncomfortably  enlightened  as  to  Cleopatra's 
feelings.  The  cure,  according  to  his  prescription,  was 
evidently  to  be  "absent  treatment."  But  there  was 
another  which  I  fancied  might  be  efficacious;  the  sudden 
arrival  on  the  scene  of  Marcus  Antonius  Lark. 

I  happened  to  know  that  he  proposed  a  dash  from  Cairo 
to  Assuan  by  train,  for  I  had  received  two  telegrams 
at  the  moment  of  walking  off  the  boat.  The  first  message 
announced  his  almost  immediate  advent;  the  second  re- 
gretted unavoidable  delay,  but  expressed  an  intention  not 
to  let  us  steam  away  for  Wady  Haifa  without  seeing  him. 
The  excuse  alleged  was  business,  but  I  thought  I  saw 
through  it,  and  sympathized;  for  he  whom  I  had  once 
cursed  as  a  brutal  tyrant  of  money-bags  now  loomed 
large  as  a  pathetic  figure. 

Despite  the  lesson  of  the  lotuses,  I  believed  that 
his  motive  was  to  try  his  chance  with  Mrs.  East;  that 
life  had  become  intolerable,  unless  "Lark's  Luck"  might 
hold  again;  and  that  he  could  not  wait  till  the  cruel  lady 
returned  to  Cairo.  It  was  a  toss-up,  as  we  walked  side 
by  side  to  the  incense-laden  bazaar,  whether  I  told  her 
the  news  or  left  her  to  be  surprised  by  the  unexpected 
visitor.  Eventually  I  decided  that  silence  would  help 
the  cause;  and  in  thus  making  up  my  mind  I  was 
far  from  guessing  that  my  own  fate  and  Monny's  and 
Anthony's  and  Brigit's  hung  also  on  that  insignificant 
decision.  I  was  thankful  that  Mrs.  East  said  no  more  of 
bringing  her  niece  and  me  together,  and  that,  on  the  con- 


MAROONED  387 

trary,  she  dropped  dark  hints  about  "everything  in  life 
which  she  had  wanted"  being  now  "too  late,  and  useless 
to  hope  for"  in  this  incarnation.  Why  she  had  changed 
her  plans  for  Monny  I  could  not  be  sure;  enough  for  me 
that  she  apparently  had  changed  them. 

Sir  Marcus  did  not  appear  the  next  day  or  the  next,  and 
I  heard  no  more.  Indeed,  between  dread  of  breaking  the 
truth  to  Bill  Bailey,  and  self-reproach  at  letting  time 
pass  without  breaking.it,  I  almost  forgot  Lark's  love 
affair.  I  salved  my  conscience  by  working  unnecessarily 
hard,  and  even  helping  Kruger  with  his  accounts,  when 
Anthony  too  generously  relieved  me  of  other  duties. 

How  I  envied  Fenton  at  this  time,  because  no  girls 
asked  him  what  men  they  ought  to  marry;  or  implored 
him  to  prevent  men  from  jilting  them;  or  urged  him  to 
enlighten  handsome  sculptors  with  wavy,  soft  hair,  and 
hard  eyes  resembling  the  crystal  orbs  which  were  to  be- 
come fashionable  in  Society!  Anthony  loved  Assuan, 
and  apparently  enjoyed  displaying  its  beauties.  Not 
knowing  that  I  hid  a  fox  under  my  mantle,  he  meant  to 
be  kind  in  "taking  people  off  my  hands,"  giving  them 
tea  on  the  Cataract  Hotel  veranda;  escorting  them  to 
the  ruined  Saracen  Castle  which,  with  Elephantine  oppo- 
site, barred  the  river  and  made  a  noble  gateway;  lead- 
ing them  at  sunset  to  the  Arab  cemetery  in  the  desert, 
and  to  the  Bisharin  village  where  wild,  dark  creatures 
(whose  hair  was  pinned  with  arrows  and  whose  ancestors 
were  mentioned  in  the  Bible)  sold  baskets  and  bracelets 
and  what  not.  There  were  really,  as  Sir  John  Biddell 
remarked,  a  "plethora  of  sights,"  not  counting  the  mag- 
nificent Rock  Tombs,  since  the  Set  had  definitely  "struck  " 


388  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

against  tombs  of  all  descriptions.  But  even  with  an 
excursion  to  the  ancient  quarries,  for  a  look  at  half- 
finished  obelisks,  for  once  I  had  not  enough  to  do.  And 
Fenton  had  snatched  Biddy  from  me  as  well  as  Monny. 
Mercilessly  he  had  them  sightseeing  every  moment. 
And  I  could  no  longer  scold  Rachel  for  "letting  things 
slide."  To  blame  her  would  be  for  the  pot  to  call  the 
kettle  black. 

It  was  on  the  day  of  the  Great  Dam  that  I  screwed 
my  courage  to  the  sticking-place,  and  made  Bailey 
understand  that  his  fiancee  was  nobody  but  Rachel 
Guest;  that  she  would  be  Rachel  Guest  all  her  life 
until  she  became  Mrs.  Some  One-or-Other:  preferably 
Mrs.  Willis  Bailey.  Somehow  it  seemed  appropriate  to 
do  the  deed  at  the  Dam.  And  always  in  future,  when 
people  ask  what  impression  the  eighth  wonder  of  the 
world  made  upon  me,  I  shall  doubt  for  an  instant  whether 
they  refer  to  the  American  sculptor,  or  to  the  Bar- 
rage. 

The  way  in  which  we  went  was  so  impressive  that  it 
was  comparatively  easy  to  be  keyed  up  to  anything. 

Most  travellers  make  the  trip  on  donkey  back;  or  else, 
as  far  as  Shellal,  in  a  white,  blue-eyed  desert  train,  where 
violet  window-glass  soothes  their  eyes  and  prepares  their 
minds  for  a  future  journey  to  Khartum.  After  Shellal 
they  go  on  in  small  boats  to  the  wide,  still  lake  which  the 
Great  Dam  has  stored  up  for  the  supply  of  Egypt.  But 
we  of  the  Enchantress  Isis  were  super-travellers.  Our 
boat  being  of  less  bulk  than  her  new  rivals,  she  was 
able  to  reach  the  Barrage  by  passing  up  through  its 
many  locks  and  proceed  calmly  along  the  Upper  Nile, 


MAROONED  389 

between  the  golden  shores  of  Nubia,  to  Wady  Haifa.  We 
remained  on  board  for  the  experience;  and  though  I  had 
the  task  of  telling  Bailey,  still  before  me,  I  would  not 
have  changed  places  with  a  king,  as  standing  on  deck, 
with  Biddy  by  my  side,  I  felt  myself  ascending  the  once 
impassable  Cataracts  of  the  god  Khnum. 

If  Biddy  had  been  the  only  person  by  my  side,  I  should 
have  risked  telling  her  the  secret  she  ought  always  to 
have  known.  But  there  were  as  many  others  as  could 
crowd  along  the  rail.  For  once  they  were  reflective,  not 
inclined  to  chatter.  Perhaps  the  same  thought  took 
different  forms,  according  as  it  fitted  itself  into  different 
heads;  the  thought  of  that  marvellous  campaign  of  the 
boats  which  fought  their  way  past  these  cataracts  to 
relieve  Gordon.  The  ascent  was  a  pageant  for  us.  For 
them  it  had  meant  strife  and  disaster  and  death.  We 
admired  the  glimpses  of  yellow  desert:  we  exclaimed 
joyously  at  the  mad  turmoil  of  green  water,  the  blood- 
red  and  jet-black  rocks,  below  the  Dam.  For  us  it  was 
a  scene  of  unforgettable  majesty.  For  those  others, 
the  waste  of  stone-choked  river  must  have  yawned  like 
a  wicked  mouth,  full  of  water  and  jagged  black  teeth, 
which  opened  to  gulp  down  boats  and  men. 

It  was  on  the  brink  of  the  Barrage  itself  that  I  spoke  to 
Bailey.  And  there,  looking  down  over  the  immense 
granite  parapet,  upon  line  after  line  of  tamed  cataracts 
breathing  rainbows,  we  were  so  small,  so  insignificant, 
that  surely  it  could  not  matter  to  a  man  whether  the 
girl  of  his  heart  were  an  heiress  or  a  beggar  maid !  There 
was  room  in  the  world  only  for  the  mighty  organ-music 
of  these  waters,  and  the  ever  underlying  song  of  love.  t 


390  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

I  saw  by  the  look  in  Bailey's  eyes,  however,  as  he  gazed 
away  from  me  to  the  long-necked  dragon  form  of  a  huge 
derrick,  that  it  did  matter.  I  had  been  tactful.  I  had 
mentioned  the  mistake  in  identity  as  if  it  were  a  silly 
game  played  by  children,  a  game  which  neither  he  nor 
I  nor  any  one  could  ever  have  regarded  seriously.  He 
controlled  himself,  and  took  it  well,  so  far  as  outward 
appearance  went:  but  soon  he  made  an  excuse  to  escape: 
and  presently  I  saw  him  strolling  off  alone,  head  down, 
hands  in  pockets.  Luncheon  was  being  prepared  on  the 
veranda  of  a  house  belonging  to  the  chief  engineer  of 
the  Dam.  Its  owner  was  a  friend  of  Sir  Marcus  Lark, 
and,  being  away,  had  agreed  to  lend  his  place  to  our 
party,  Kruger  having  done  no  end  of  writing  and 
telegraphing  to  secure  it.  Many  of  our  people  had 
got  off  the  Enchantress  I  sis  in  one  of  the  locks,  and 
had  walked  up  the  steps  to  the  summit-level  of  the 
Barrage,  Brigit  and  I  among  others.  And  as  we  as- 
sembled for  lunch  it  was  an  odd  sight  to  see  our  white, 
floating  home  rising  higher  and  higher,  until  at  last  she 
rode  out  on  the  surface  of  the  broad  sea  of  Nile  which  is 
held  up  by  the  granite  wall  of  the  Barrage.  She  was  to 
be  moored  by  the  Dam,  and  to  wait  for  us  there  until 
evening,  when  we  should  have  exhausted  the  Barrage  and 
ourselves;  and  have  visited  Philae. 

By  and  by  luncheon  was  ready,  served  by  our  white- 
robed,  red-sashed  waiters  from  the  Isis,  but  Bailey  did 
not  return.  Rachel  begged  that  our  table  might  wait 
for  a  few  minutes.  Perhaps  he  had  gone  the  length  of 
the  Dam  in  one  of  those  handcars,  on  which  some  of  our 
people  had  dashed  up  and  down  the  famous  granite  mile, 


MAROONED  391 

their  little  vehicles  pushed  by  Arabs.  He  might  be  back 
in  a  few  minutes.  But  the  minutes  passed  and  he  did 
not  come.  The  dragon-derrick  stretched  its  neck  from 
far  away,  as  if  to  peer  curiously  at  Rachel.  The  black 
and  red  and  purple  monsters  disguised  as  rocks  for  this 
wild,  masquerade  ball  of  the  Nile,  foamed  at  the  mouth 
with  watery  mirth  at  the  trouble  these  silly  things  called 
girls  had  always  been  bringing  on  themselves,  since 
Earth  and  Egypt  were  young  together.  The  look  of  the 
forsaken,  the  jilted,  was  already  stamped  upon  Rachel's 
face.  She  tried  to  eat:  when  the  picnic  meal  could  be 
put  off  no  longer,  but  dbuld  scarcely  swallow.  Monny 
glanced  at  her  anxiously  from  time  to  time,  perhaps  sus- 
pecting something  of  the  truth.  And  the  eyes  of  botii 
girls  turned  to  me  now  and  then  with  an  appeal  which 
made  unpalatable  my  well-earned  hard-boiled  eggs,  and 
drumsticks.  Bother  the  whole  blamed  business!  thought 
I.  Hadn't  I  done  all  I  could?  Wasn't  I  practically  run- 
ning the  lives  of  these  tiresome  tourists,  as  well  as  their 
tour?  What  did  that  adventuress  out  of  a  New  England 
schoolroom  want  of  me  now,  when  I'd  washed  my 
hands  of  her  and  her  affairs? 

But  all  through,  there  was  no  real  use  in  asking  myself 
these  questions.  I  knew  what  Rachel  wanted,  and  that 
I  should  have  to  do  it,  if  only  to  please  Biddy,  who 
would  be  broken-hearted  if  Monny 's  indiscretions  should 
wreck  the  happiness  of  even  the  most  undeserving  young 
female.  Darling  Monny  must  be  saved  from  remorse  at 
all  costs ! 

One  of  the  costs  to  me  was  luncheon  as  well  as  peace 
of  mind.  I  excused  myself  from  the  table.  I  pretended 


392  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

to  have  forgotten  some  business  of  importance.  I 
whispered  to  the  Enchantress  dining-room  steward,  who 
had  come  to  look  after  the  waiters,  that  the  meal  must 
be  served  as  slowly  as  possible.  "Drag  out  the  courses,"' 
said  I.  "Make  'em  eat  salad  by  itself,  and  everything 
separate,  except  bread  and  butter."  Having  given  these 
last  instructions,  I  was  off  like  an  arrow  shot  from  the 
bow,  a  reluctant  arrow  sulking  at  its  own  impetus.  In- 
stinct was  the  hand  that  aimed  me;  the  Enchantress  I  sis 
was  the  target;  and  deck  cabin  No.  36  was  the  bull's-eye. 
As  I  expected,  Bailey  was  in  his  stateroom.  I  had  not 
far  to  go;  only  to  hurry  from  the  engineer's  house,  along 
the  river-bank  to  the  landing-place,  where  a  number  of 
native  boats  were  lying;  jump  into  one,  and  row  out  a  few 
yards.  But  the  heat  of  noon,  after  the  cool  shade  of  the 
veranda,  was  terrific.  I  arrived  out  of  breath,  my  brow 
richly  embroidered  with  crystal  beads,  just  in  time  to  find 
Bailey  squeezing  his  bath  sponge  preparatory  to  packing 
it,  in  a  yawning  kitbag  already  full.  At  such  a  moment 
he  could  squeeze  a  sponge !  I  hated  him  for  this,  as  though 
the  sponge  had  been  Rachel's  heart. 

On  his  berth  lay  a  letter  addressed  to  her,  and  another 
to  me.  No  doubt  he  told  us  both  that  he  had  received 
an  urgent  telegram.  He  was  so  taken  aback  at  sight 
of  the  task  master  that  he  let  me  withdraw  the  sponge 
from  his  pulseless  fingers.  I  laid  it  reverently  on  the 
washhand-stand,  as  a  heart  should  be  laid  on  an  altar. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  I  began.  (Yes,  to  my  credit  be  it 
spoken,  I  said  "dear  fellow!")  "You  don't  know  what 
you  are  doing.  I  speak  for  your  own  sake.  Think  what 
people  will  say!  Every  one  will  see  why  you  left  her. 


MAROONED  393 

And  you  don't  want  to  leave  her,  you  know!  Of  course 
you  don't !  You  love  Miss  Guest.  She  loves  you.  Not 
all  the  crystal  eyes  in  the  world  can  make  you  the  fashion, 
if  the  eyes  of  your  fiancee  are  red  with  tears  because  you 
jilted  her,  when  you  found  out  she  was  —  only  herself! 
People  don't  like  such  things.  They  won't  have  their 
artists  cold  and  calculating.  It  isn't  done.  You  can't 
afford  to  squeeze  a  sp  —  I  mean,  break  a  heart  in  this 
fashion.  It  will  ruin  your  reputation." 

So  I  argued  with  a  certain  eloquence,  forcing  con- 
viction until  with  a  fierce  gesture  Bailey  snatched  six 
collars  from  his  bag  and  flung  them  on  the  bed.  Seeing 
thus  clearly  what  I  thought  showed  him  what  others 
were  sure  to  think :  and  the  world's  opinion  was  life  itself 
to  Bailey.  He  was  cowed,  then  conquered.  At  last  I 
dared  to  say:  "May  I?" 

He  nodded. 

Instantly  I  tore  the  letters  into  as  many  pieces  as  there 
were  collars.  Afterward,  when  we  walked  off  the  boat, 
arm  in  arm,  I  dropped  them  into  the  water. 

We  got  back  to  the  engineer's  before  the  picnickers  had 
finished  their  belated  Turkish  coffee.  Bailey  took  the 
vacant  chair  between  Rachel  Guest  and  Monny  Gilder. 
Biddy  said  that  she  had  asked  to  have  some  coffee  kept 
hot  for  me.  I  needed  it! 

That  is  what  delayed  our  start  for  Philae  and  is,  I 
suppose,  why  everything  that  took  place  there  after- 
ward happened  exactly  as  it  did.  If  we  had  left  the  Dam 
an  hour  earlier,  there  would  have  been  no  excuse  to  stop 
for  sunset  at  th<j  temple  which  those  who  love  it  call  the 


394  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Pearl  of  Egypt."     As  it  was  —  but  that  comes  after- 
ward. 

When  Strabo  went  from  Syene  to  Philae,  he  drove  in  a 
chariot  with  the  prefect  of  that  place,  "through  a  very  flat 
plain,"  and  on  both  sides  of  their  road  (  I  fear,  for  their 
bones,  it  was  a  rough  one!)  rose  "blocks  of  dark,  hard 
rock  resembling  Hermes-towers."  Nearly  two  thousand 
years  later  we  were  rowed  to  the  same  temple,  across  an 
immensely  deep,  vast  sheet  of  shining  crystal.  We 
lolled  (I  am  fond  of  that  word,  though  aware  that  it's 
reserved  for  villainesses)  in  "galleys"  painted  in  colours 
so  violent  that  they  looked  like  tropical  birds.  They 
were  awninged,  and  convulsively  propelled  by  Nubians 
whose  veins  swelled  in  their  full  black  throats,  and  whose 
ebony  faces  were  plastered  with  a  grayish  froth  of  sweat. 
Each  pressed  a  great  toe,  like  a  dark-skinned  potato,  on 
the  seat  in  front  of  him  for  support  in  the  fierce  effort  of 
rowing.  Turbans  were  torn  off  shaved,  perspiring  heads, 
and  even  skull-caps  went  in  the  last  extreme.  Wild 
appeals  were  chanted  to  all  the  handiest  saints  to  grant 
aid  in  the  terrible  undertaking.  An  eagle-eyed  child  at 
the  steering  wheel  gazed  pityingly  at  his  agonized  elders. 
And  then,  just  as  you  expected  the  whole  crew  to  fall  dead 
from  heart  failure,  they  chuckled  with  glee  at  some 
joke  of  their  own.  There  wTas  always  breath  and  energy 
enough  to  spare  when  they  wanted  it.  But  what  would 
you?  The  labourer  must  be  worthy  of  his  hire,  and  a 
little  something  over.  When  Strabo  saw  Philae,  she  was 
a  distant  neighbour  of  the  mighty  Cataracts.  Now,  the 
waters  which  once  rushed  down  are  prisoned  by  the 
Great  Dam,  and  stand  enslaved,  to  wall  the  temple 


MAROONED  395 

round  like  a  great  pearl  in  a  crystal  case.  She  is  the 
true  Bride  of  the  Nile;  for,  as  long  ago  the  fairest 
of  maidens  gave  herself  to  the  water  as  a  sacrifice,  so 
Philae  gives  herself  for  the  life  of  the  people.  She 
drowns,  but  in  death  she  is  more  beautiful  than  when  the 
eyes  of  the  old  historian  beheld  her,  glowing  with  the 
colours  of  her  youth,  yet  already  old,  deserted  by  gods  and 
priests  and  worshippers.  Now  she  has  worshippers  from 
the  four  ends  of  the  earth,  and  the  greatest  singers  of  the 
world  chant  her  funeral  hymn.  For  in  all  Egypt,  with  its 
many  temples  of  supreme  magnificence,  there  is  nothing 
like  Philae.  None  can  forget  her.  None  can  confuse 
her  identity  for  a  moment  with  that  of  any  other  monu- 
ment of  a  dead  religion.  And  if  she  were  the  only  temple 
in  Egypt,  Egypt  would  be  worth  crossing  the  ocean  to 
see,  because  of  this  dying  pearl  in  its  crystal  case. 

Venus  rose  from  the  sea.  Philae,  the  Marriage  Temple 
of  Osiris  and  Isis  —  Venus  of  Egypt  —  sinks  into  the 
sea  of  waters  poured  over  her  by  Khnum,  god  of  the  Cat- 
aracts. Thus  the  great  enchantress  sings  her  swan-song 
to  touch  the  heart  of  the  world,  her  fair  head  afloat  like 
a  sacred  lotus  on  the  gleaming  water.  I  think  there 
were  few  among  us  who  did  not  fancy  they  heard  that 
song,  as  our  Nubian  men  rowed  across  the  sea  stored  up 
by  the  great  Barrage.  From  far  away  we  saw  a  strange 
apparition,  as  of  a  temple  rising  from  the  waters.  It 
seemed  unreal  at  first,  a  mere  mirage  of  a  temple.  Then 
it  took  solid  outline;  darkly  cut  in  silver;  a  low,  column- 
supported  roof;  a  pylon  towering  high;  and  to  the  south, 
separated  from  both  these,  a  thing  that  might  have  been 
a  huge  wreath  of  purple  flowers.  We  knew,  however, 


396  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

from  too  many  photographs  and  postcards,  that  this  was 
"Pharaoh's  Bed,"  the  unfinished  temple  of  Augustus  and 
Trajan,  standing  on  a  flooded  island. 

Our  boat  glided  close  to  the  flower-like  stems  of  the 
columns  supporting  the  low  roof.  Far  down  in  the  clear 
depths  we  could  see  the  roots  of  the  pillars,  or  their 
phantom  reflections.  And  in  the  light  of  afternoon,  the 
water  was  so  vivid  a  green  that  the  colour  of  it  seemed 
to  have  washed  off  from  the  painted  stones.  Onto  this  roof 
we  scrambled,  up  a  flight  of  steps,  and  found  that  we  were 
not  to  have  Philae  to  ourselves.  There  were  other  boats, 
other  tourists;  but  we  pretended  that  they  were  invisible, 
and  they  played  the  same  game  with  us.  Ignoring  one 
another,  the  rival  bands  wandered  about,  wondered  what 
the  place  would  be  like  with  the  water  "down,"  quoted 
poetry  and  guide-books,  and  climbed  the  pylon.  From 
that  height  the  kiosk  called  "Pharaoh's  Bed"  showed  a 
mirrored  double,  like  an  old  ivory  casket  with  jewelled 
sides,  piled  full  of  a  queen's  emeralds.  We  loitered;  we 
explored;  and  having  descended  sat  down  to  rest,  dang- 
ling irreverent  feet  over  beryl  depths,  splashed  with  gold. 
Thus  we  whiled  away  an  hour,  perhaps.  Then  the  Set, 
impressed  at  first,  had  had  enough  of  the  mermaid- 
temple's  tragic  beauty.  Sir  John  Biddell  reminded  me 
that  it  had  been  a  long  day  for  the  ladies,  and  very  hot. 
Hadn't  we  better  get  back  to  the  Enchantress  before 
sunset?  But  that  was  exactly  what  some  of  us  did  not 
Want  to  do. 

The  matter  was  finally  settled  by  retaining  our  one 
small  boat,  with  two  rowers,  and  sending  off  the  two 
larger  "galleys"  with  their  full  complement  of  passengers, 


MAROONED  397 

excepting  only  "Mrs.  Jones,"  Miss  Gilder,  Antoun 
Effendi,  the  melancholy  Cleopatra,  and  the  guilty  shep- 
herd of  the  flock,  who  knew  he  had  no  business  to  desert 
his  sheep.  He  did  nevertheless  feel,  poor  brute,  that  after 
such  a  day  he  had  earned  a  little  pleasure,  and,  accord- 
ingly proceeded  to  snatch  it  from  Fate,  despite  disap- 
proving glances.  Punishment,  however,  fell  as  soon  as 
it  was  due.  I  had  stayed  behind  with  the  intention  of 
amusing  Brigit.  But  Monny  took  her  from  me,  as 
if  she  had  bought  the  right  to  use  my  childhood's 
friend  whenever  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  to  want 
a  chaperon.  Instead  of  Biddy,  I  got  Cleopatra.  And  by 
this  time,  so  far  as  we  knew,  all  tourists  save  ourselves 
had  gone. 

I  knew  in  my  heart  that,  in  accusing  Monny  Gilder  of 
claiming  Brigit  O'Neill  because  she  was  paying  her  ex- 
penses, I  did  the  girl  an  injustice.  Monny  was  afraid  of 
herself  with  Anthony.  I  saw  that  plainly,  since  the  fact 
had  been  laid  under  my  nose  by  Mrs.  East.  She  feared 
the  glamour  of  this  magical  place,  perhaps,  and  felt  the 
need  of  Biddy's  companionship  to  keep  her  strong,  not 
realizing  that  any  one  else  was  yearning  for  the  lady. 
This  was  the  whole  front  of  her  offending;  yet  I  was  so 
disappointed  that  I  wanted  to  be  brutal.  Without  Biddy, 
I  should  wish  but  to  howl  at  the  sunset,  as  a  dog  bays  the 
moon.  And  feeling  thus  I  may  not  have  made  myself 
too  agreeable  to  Cleopatra.  In  any  case,  after  we  had 
sat  in  silence  for  a  while,  waiting  for  a  sunset  not  yet  ready 
to  arrive,  she  turned  reproachful  eyes  upon  me.  "Lord 
Ernest,"  she  said,  "I  think  you  had  better  go  and  join 
Monny." 


398  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Why?"  I  surlily  inquired.  "  I  thought  you  thought 
that  idea  of  yours  was  too  late  to  be  of  any  use 
now?" 

"I  do  think  so,"  she  replied.  "Everything  interesting 
is  too  late  now.  Still,  you'd  better  go." 

"Are  you  tired  of  me?"  I  stupidly  catechised  her. 

"Well,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  be  alone  in  this 
wonderful  place.  /  want  to  think  back" 

"I  see,"  said  I,  scrambling  up  from  my  seat  on  the  edge 
of  the  temple  roof,  and  trying  not  to  show  by  my  ex- 
pression that  I  was  pleased,  or  that  both  my  feet  had  gone 
to  sleep.  "In  that  case,  I'll  leave  you  to  the  spooks. 
; May  none  but  the  right  ones  come!" 

"Thank  you,"  she  returned  dryly;  and  I  limped  off, 
walking  on  air,  tempered  with  pins  and  needles.  Joy! 
my  luck  had  turned!  At  the  top  of  the  worn  stone 
stairway,  cut  in  the  pylon,  I  met  Biddy.  She  was  dim 
as  one  of  Cleopatra's  Ptolemaic  ghosts,  in  the  darkness  of 
the  passage;  but  to  me  that  darkness  was  brighter  than 
the  best  thing  in  sunsets. 

"Salutation  to  Caesar  from  one  about  to  die!"  I 
ejaculated. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"I  mean  that  both  my  feet  are  fast  asleep,  and  I  shall 
certainly  fall  and  kill  myself  if  I  try  to  go  one  step  further, 
up  or  down." 

"You,  the  climber  of  impossible  cliffs  after  sea- birds' 
nests!"  she  laughed.  But  she  stood  still. 

"I'm  after  something  better  than  sea-birds'  nests  now," 
said  I.  "The  question  is,  whether  it's  not  still  more 
inaccessible?  " 


MAROONED  399 

"Are  you  talking  about  —  Monny?"  she  wanted  to 
know,  in  a  whisper. 

"Sit  down  and  I'll  tell  you,"  was  my  answer. 

"Oh,  not  here  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  if  it's  anything  as 
private  as  that"  Biddy  objected,  all  excitement  in  an 
instant.  "Let's  come  into  a  tiny  room  off  the  stair- 
way, which  the  guardian  showed  me  a  few  minutes  ago. 
There's  a  bench  in  it.  You  see,  he's  up  there  on  the  pylon 
roof  now  with  Monny  and  Captain  Fenton  (I  cant  call 
him  Antoun  when  I  talk  to  you;  its  too  silly!)  and 
he'll  probably  be  coming  down  in  a  minute.  Then, 
if  we  stop  where  we  are,  we'll  have  to  jump  up 
and  get  out  of  the  way,  to  let  him  pass.  And 
he's  sure  to  linger  and  work  off  his  English  on  us. 
I  don't  think  we'll  want  to  be  interrupted  that  way, 
do  you?" 

"No,  nor  any  other  way,"  I  agreed. 

"Oh,  but  what  about  the  sunset?     We  may  miss  it." 

"Hang  the  sunset!  Let  it  slide  —  down  behind  the 
Dam  if  it  likes!" 

"I  don't  wonder  you  feel  so,  you  poor  dear,"  Biddy 
sympathized,  "when  it's  a  question  of  Monny,  and  all  our 
hopes  going  to  pieces  the  way  they  are  doing,  every 
minute.  There  isn't  a  second  to  lose." 

So  we  went  into  the  little  room  in  the  tower,  which  was 
lit  only  by  a  small  square  opening  over  our  heads.  We 
sat  down  on  the  bench.  It  was  beautifully  dark.  I 
began  to  talk  to  Biddy.  We  had  forgotten  my  feet;  and 
I  forgot  Mrs.  East.  But  I  must  tell  what  was  happening 
to  her  at  the  time  (as  I  learned  afterward,  through  the 
confession  of  an  impenitent),  before  I  begin  to  tell  what 


400  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

happened  to  us.  Otherwise  the  situation  which  developed 
can't  be  made  clear. 

I  left  Cleopatra  calling  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep,  or 
rather  one  spirit;  the  spirit  of  Antony.  I  am  morally  sure 
that  any  other  would  have  been  de  trop.  And  sailing  to 
her  across  the  wide  water  from  Shellal  came  Marcus 
Antonius  Lark. 

I  can't  say  whether  she  considered  him  an  answer  to 
her  prayer,  or  a  denial  of  it.  Anyhow,  there  he  was; 
better,  perhaps,  than  nobody,  until  she  learned  from  his 
own  lips  —  tactless  though  ardent  lips  —  that  he  had 
come  from  Cairo  to  Assuan,  from  Assuan  to  Philae,  to 
see  her.  Then  she  took  alarm,  and  remarked  in  the  old, 
conventional  way  of  women,  that  they'd  "better  go 
look  for  the  others."  But  Sir  Marcus  hadn't  spent  his 
money,  time,  and  gray  matter  in  hurrying  to  Philae 
from  Shellal,  for  nothing.  Finding  himself  too  late  to 
catch  us  at  Assuan,  he  had  paid  for  a  special  train  in 
order  to  follow  his  "Enchantress"  (the  lady  and  the 
boat). 

Taking  a  felucca  with  a  fine  spread  of  canvas  and  many 
rowers,  which  (characteristically)  he  bargained  for  at 
the  Shellal  landing-place,  he  sailed  across  to  the  moored 
steamer,  only  to  learn  from  Kruger  that  we  had  gone  on 
our  expedition  to  Philae.  That  meant  a  long  sail  and 
row  for  the  impatient  lover.  For  us,  the  longer  it  was, 
the  better:  one  of  the  chief  charms  of  our  best  day.  But 
for  him  it  must  have  been  tedious,  despite  a  good  breeze 
that  filled  the  sails  and  helped  the  rowers. 

On  his  way  to  the  temple,  he  met  the  galleys  going 
"home"  to  the  Enchantress  Isis.  An  instant's  shock 


MAROONED  401 

of  disappointment,  and  then  the  glad  relief  of  realizing 
that  the  one  he  sought  was  still  at  the  place  where  he 
wished  to  find  her.  There  were  only  four  Obstacles  which 
might  prevent  an  ideal  meeting.  The  names  of  these 
Obstacles,  in  his  mind  were:  Jones,  Gilder,  Fenton,  and 
Borrow;  and  being  an  expert  in  abolishing  Obstacles,  the 
great  Sir  Marcus  began  to  map  out  a  plan  of  action. 

Luckily  fcfr  him,  our  small  boat  had  moved  out  of 
Cleopatra's  sight,  as  she  sat  and  dreamed  on  the  low 
temple-roof,  while  we  four  Obstacles  disported  ourselves 
on  different  parts  of  the  high  pylon.  The  two  Nubians 
wished  to  play  a  betting  game  with  a  kind  of  Egyptian 
Jack-stones,  and  it  was  not  desirable  that  the  pensive 
lady  should  behold  them  doing  it.  Observing  the  grace- 
ful figure  of  Mrs.  East  silhouetted  against  the  sky's 
eternal  flame  of  blue,  and  at  the  same  time  noticing  that 
she  could  not  see  the  waiting  boat,  Sir  Marcus  got  his 
inspiration.  He  knew  that  the  four  Obstacles  were  some- 
where about  the  temple.  Now  was  his  great  chance, 
while  they  were  out  of  the  way!  And  if  he  resolved  to 
play  them  a  trick,  perhaps  he  salved  his  conscience  by 
telling  it  that  the  Obstacles,  male  and  female,  ought  to 
thank  him. 

Cleopatra  probably  thought,  if  she  glanced  up  to  see  his 
boat:  "Oh  dear,  another  load  of  tourists!"  and  promptly 
looked  down  to  avoid  the  horrid  vision.  By  the  time 
Sir  Marcus  came  within  "How  do  you  do?"  distance, 
he  had  bribed  our  waiting  boatmen  to  row  away.  This 
in  order  not  to  be  caught  in  a  lie. 

With  our  Nubians  and  their  craft  out  of  his  watery 
way,  he  was  free  to  fib  when  the  time  came.  "Go  look 


402  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

for  the  others?"  he  echoed  Mrs.  East's  proposal.  "Why, 
they've  gone.  I  met  them." 

"Gone!  And  left  me  behind  when  they  knew  I  was 
here?"  she  exclaimed.  "They  can't  have  done  such  a 
thing." 

"I'm  afraid  there's  been  a  mistake,"  replied  Sir  Marcus 
presently.  "They  certainly  have  gone.  I  met  the  boat. 
Borrow  was  expecting  me  to-day,  you  know  —  or  maybe 
you  don't  know.  And  when  he  saw  me  in  my  felucca,  he 
stopped  his  to  explain  that  evidently  there 'd  been  a 
contretemps."  (I'm  sure  Lark  mispronounced  that  word!) 
"  The  temple  guardian  said  a  gentleman  had  arrived  and 
taken  the  lady  who  was  waiting,  off  in  a  boat.  Of  course 
Borrow  thought  I  had  come  along,  and  persuaded  you  to 
go  with  me,  after  telling  the  guardian  to  let  him  know. 
I  expect  the  guardian's  got  mighty  little  English:  and 
they  say  white  ladies  all  look  alike  to  blacks.  He  must 
have  mixed  you  up  with  some  other  lady.  I  suppose 
my  folks  haven't  been  the  only  people  at  Philae  since 
you  came?" 

Mrs.  East  admitted  that  a  number  of  "creatures"  had 
come  and  gone.  But  she  thought  all  had  vanished  before 
the  departure  of  the  galleys. 

"You  see  you  thought  wrong.  That's  all  there  is 
to  it,"  Sir  Marcus  assured  her.  And  having  taken  these 
elaborate  measures  to  secure  the  lady's  society  for  him- 
self alone  (Nubian  rowers  don't  count)  he  proceeded  to 
lure  her  hastily  into  his  own  boat,  lest  any  or  all  of  the 
Obstacles  should  arrive  to  spoil  his  coup. 

That  was  the  manner  of  our  marooning. 

At  the  time,  we  were  ignorant  of  what  was  happening 


MAROONED  403 

behind  our  backs;  the  sunset  for  instance,  and  the  only 
available  boat  calmly  rowing  away  from  the  drowned 
Temple  of  Philae. 

We  were  thinking  of  something  else;  and  so  was  Sir 
Marcus,  or  he  would  not  have  forgotten  the  repentant 
promise  he  made  himself,  soon  to  send  back  a  boat  and 
take  us  off.  We  were,  therefore,  in  the  position  of  unre- 
hearsed actors  in  a  play  who  don't  know  what  awaits 
them  in  the  next  act:  while  those  who  may  read  this 
can  see  the  whole  situation  from  above,  below,  and  on 
both  sides.  Four  of  us,  marooned  at  Philae,  not  knowing 
it,  and  night  coming  on. 


XXVI 
WHAT  WE  SAID:  WHAT  WE  HEARD 

"  BIDDY,  you  were  never  wiser  in  your  life,"  I  exploded 
as  I  got  her  on  the  bench.  "You  warned  me  there  wasn't 
a  second  to  lose.  I've  lost  years  already,  and  I  can't 
stand  it  the  sixtieth  part  of  a  minute  longer,  without 
telling  you  how  I  love  you!" 

"My  goodness!"  gasped  Biddy.  "Do  be  serious  for 
once,  Duffer.  This  is  no  time  for  jokes.  Don't  you 
know  you've  delayed  and  delayed  in  spite  of  my  ad- 
vice, till  you've  practically  lost  that  girl?  And  if  there's 
any  chance  left " 

"The  only  chance  I  want  is  with  you,"  I  said.  "Dar- 
ling, I  want  you  with  my  heart  and  soul,  and  all  there  is 
of  me.  Have  I  any  chance?" 

"And  how  long  since  were  you  taken  this  way?" 
demanded  Biddy,  at  her  most  Irish,  staring  at  me 
through  the  darkness  of  the  little  dim  room  in  the 
pylon. 

"Ever  since  you  were  an  adorable  darling  of  four 
years,"  I  assured  her.  "Only  I  was  interrupted  by 
going  to  Eton  and  Oxford,  and  your  being  married. 
But  the  love  has  always  been  there,  in  a  deep  under- 
tone. The  music's  never  stopped  once.  It  never 
could.  And  when  I  saw  you  on  the  Laconia " 

404 


WHAT  WE  SAID:  WHAT  WE  HEARD      405 

"You  fell  in  love  with  Monny!"  breathlessly  she  cut 
me  short. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  contradicted  her  fiercely. 
"You  ordered  me  to  fall  in  love  with  Miss  Gilder.  I 
objected  politely.  You  overruled  my  objections,  or 
tried  to.  I  let  you  think  you  had.  And  for  a  while 
after  that,  you  know  perfectly  well,  Biddy,  the  Set  gave 
me  no  time  to  think  any  thoughts  at  all,  connected  with 
myself." 

"You  poor  fellow,  you  have  been  a  slave!"  The  soft- 
hearted angel  was  caught  in  the  trap  set  for  her  pity. 

"And  a  martyr.  A  double-dyed  martyr.  I  deserve 
a  reward.  Give  it  to  me,  Biddy.  Promise,  here  in  this 
beautiful  Marriage  Temple,  to  marry  me.  Let  me  take 
care  of  you  all  the  rest  of  your  life." 

"  My  patience,  a  nice  reward  for  you  !"she  snapped.  "  Let 
you  be  hoist  by  the  same  petard  that's  always  lying  around 
to  hoist  me !  What  do  you  think  of  me,  Duffer  —  and 
after  all  the  proofs  we've  just  had  of  the  dangerous 
creature  I  am?  Why,  the  whole  trouble  at  Luxor  was 
on  my  account.  Even  you  must  see  that.  Monny 
and  I  wouldn't  have  been  let  into  Rechid's  house  if 
those  secret  men  hadn't  persuaded  him  to  play  into  their 
hands,  and  revenge  himself  on  you  men  as  well  as  on 
us,  for  interfering  with  Mabel.  It  was  their  plot,  not 
Rechid's,  we  escaped  from!  And  it  was  theirs  at  the 
Temple  of  Mut,  too.  Rechid  was  only  their  cat's-paw, 
thinking  he  played  his  own  hand.  Just  what  they 
wanted  to  do  I  can't  tell,  but  I  can  tell  from  what  one  of 
them  said  to  Monny  in  the  temple,  that  they  took  her 
for  Richard  O'Brien's  daughter.  Poor  child,  her  love 


406  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

for  me  and  all  her  affectionate  treatment  of  me,  must 
have  made  it  seem  likely  enough  to  them  that  she  was 
Esme,  safely  disguised  as  an  important  young  personage, 
to  travel  with  her  stepmother.  Bedr  must  have  assured 
his  employers  that  he  was  certain  the  pale  girl  was  really 
Miss  Gilder;  so  they  thought  the  other  one  with  me  must 
be  Esme.  You  can't  laugh  at  my  fears  any  more!  And 
I  ask  you  again,  what  do  you  think  of  me,  to  believe  I'd 
mix  you  up  in  my  future  scrapes?" 

"I  think  you're  the  darling  of  the  world,"  said  I. 
"And  my  one  talent,  as  you  must  have  noticed,  is  getting 
people  out  of  scrapes.  It'll  be  wasted  if  I  can't  have  you. 
Besides,  under  the  wing  of  an  Embassy  no  one  will  dare 
to  try  and  steal  you,  or  blow  you  up.  We'll  be  diplo- 
mats together,  Biddy.  Come!  You  say  I've  'duffed' 
all  my  life,  to  get  what  I  wanted.  Certainly  I've  done  a 
lot  of  genuine  duffing  in  love;  but  do  bear  out  your  own 
expressed  opinion  of  the  work  by  saving  it  from  failure. 
Couldn't  you  try  and  like  me  a  little,  if  only  for  that? 
You  were  always  so  unselfish." 

"Hush!"  said  Biddy,  suddenly,  "Hush!" 
"Do  you  hate  me, then?     Is  it  by  any  chance,  Anthony, 
you  love?" 

"No  —  no!    Hold  your  tongue,  Duffer." 
" '  No'  to  both  questions?     I  shan't  stop  till  you  answer." 
"No,  to  both,  then!    Now  will  you  be  silent?" 
"Not  unless  you  say  you  do  care  for  me." 
"Yes  —  yes,  I  do  care.     But,  Sh!     Don't  you  hear, 
they're  talking  just  outside  that  window  in  the  wall? 
If  you  can't  keep  a  still  tongue  in  your  head,  then  for 
all  the  saints  whisper!" 


WHAT  WE  SAID:  WHAT  WE  HEARD      407 

Her  brogue  was  exquisite,  and  so  was  she.  I  wor- 
shipped her.  When  I  slipped  my  arm  round  her 
waist,  she  dared  not  cry  out.  The  same  when  I 
clasped  her  hand.  Things  were  coming  my  way  at 
last.  And  if  I  put  my  lips  close  against  her  ear 
I  could  whisper  as  low  as  she  liked.  I  liked  it  too. 
And  I  loved  the  ear. 

She  was  right.  They  were  indeed  talking  just  outside 
the  window,  Monny  Gilder  and  Anthony  Fenton.  The 
prologue  was  evidently  over,  and  the  first  act  was  on. 
It  began  well,  with  a  touch  of  human  interest  certain  to 
please  an  audience.  But  unfortunately  for  every  one 
concerned,  this  was  a  private  rehearsal  for  actors  only, 
not  a  public  performance.  Biddy  and  I  had  no  business 
in  the  dark  auditorium.  We  were  deadheads.  We  had 
sneaked  in  without  paying.  The  situation  was  one  for 
a  nightmare. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  let  me  cough,  or  knock  something 
over!"  I  implored  Biddy's  ear,  which  (it  struck  me  at 
the  moment)  was  more  like  a  flower  than  an  unsym- 
pathetic shell,  best  similes  to  the  contrary.  Who  could 
have  imagined  that  it  would  be  so  heavenly  a  sensation 
to  have  your  nose  tickled  by  a  woman's  hair? 

"There's  nothing  you  can  knock  over,  but  me,"  Biddy 
retorted,  as  fiercely  as  she  could  in  a  voice  no  louder  than  a 
mosquito's.  "And  if  you  cough,  I'll  know  you're  a  dog- 
in-the-  manger . ' ' 

"Why?  "  curiosity  forced  me  to  pursue. 

"Because,  you  donkey,  ye  say  ye  don't  want  her 
yourself,  yet  ye  won't  give  yer  best  friend  a  chance!" 

"Can't  be  a  dog  and  a  aonkey  at  the  same  time,"  I 


408  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

murmured.     "  Choose  which,  and  stick  to  it,  if  ye  want  me 
to  know  what  ye  mean." 

"  Why,  you  —  you  Man,  don't  ye  see,  if  we  interrupt 
at  such  a  minute,  and  such  a  conversation,  they  can  never 
begin  again  where  they  left  off?  If  you'd  wanted  her, 
I'd  have  tried  to  save  her  for  ye,  at  any  cost.  But  as  ye 
don't,  for  goodness'  sake  give  the  two  their  chance  to 
come  to  an  understanding.  Now  be  still,  I  tell  ye,  or 
they  may  hear  us." 

"We  can't  just  sit  and  eavesdrop." 
"Stop  yer  ears  then.     It'll  take  both  hands." 
It  would;  which  is  the  reason  I  didn't  do  it.     That 
would  have  been  asking  too  much,  of  the  most  honourable 
man,  in  the  circumstances. 

Meanwhile,  the  two  outside  went  on  talking.  Be- 
lieving themselves  to  be  alone  with  the  sunset,  there  was 
no  reason  to  lower  their  voices.  They  spoke  in  ordinary 
tones,  though  what  they  said  was  not  ordinary;  and  we 
on  the  other  side  of  the  little  unglazed  window  could  not 
help  hearing  every  word. 

"I've  been  wanting  to  say  it  for  a  long  time,"  in  a 
voice  like  that  of  a  penitent  child  Monny  was  following 
up  something  we  had  (fortunately)  lost.  "Only  how 
could  I  begin  it?  I  don't  see  even  now  how  I  did  begin, 
exactly.  It's  almost  easy  though,  since  I  have  begun. 
I  was  horrid  —  horrid.  I  can't  forgive  myself,  yet  I 
want  you  to  forgive  me  for  doing  your  whole  race  a 
shameful  injustice,  for  not  understanding  it,  or  you, 
or  —  or  anything.  You've  shown  me  what  a  modern 
Egyptian  man  can  be,  in  spite  of  things  I've  read  and 
heard,  and  been  silly  enough  to  believe.  Oh,  it  isn't 


WHAT  WE  SAID:  WHAT  WE  HEARD      409 

just  that  you  come  from  some  great  family,  and  that 
you  could  call  yourself  a  prince  if  you  liked,  as  Lord 
Ernest  says.  He's  told  me  how  you  could  have  a 
fortune,  and  a  great  place  in  your  country  if  you'd 
reconcile  yourself  with  your  grandfather  in  Constanti- 
nople; but  that  you  won't,  because  it  would  mean  going 
against  England.  It  isn't  your  position,  but  what  you 
are,  that  has  made  me  see  how  small  and  ridiculous  I've 
been,  Antoun  Effendi.  Can  you  possibly  forgive  me  foi 
the  way  I  treated  you  at  first,  now  I've  confessed  and  told 
you  I'm  very,  very  sorry  and  ashamed?" 

"I  would  forgive  you,  if  there  were  anything  to 
forgive,"  Anthony  answered.  And  it  must  have  taken 
pretty  well  all  his  immense  self-control  to  go  on  speaking 
to  the  girl  in  French  —  an  alien  language  —  just  then. 
"Perhaps  there  would  be  something  to  forgive,  if  I 
weren't  on  my  side  a  great  deal  more  to  blame  than 
you.  Will  you  let  me  confess?" 

"If  you  wish.  Otherwise,  you  needn't.  For  I've 
deserved " 

" I  do  wish.     But  first,  will  you  answer  me  a  question?  " 

"I'm  sure  you  wouldn't  ask  me  a  question  I  oughtn't 
to  answer." 

"It's  only  this:  Did  Ernest  Borrow  tell  you  anything 
else  about  me?" 

"Nothing,  except  his  opinion  of  you.  And  you  must 
know  that,  by  this  time." 

"I  think  I  do.  Or  Mrs.  Jones — or  Mrs.  East?  Neither 
have  —  for  any  reason  —  advised  you  to  apologize  to 
me  for  what  you  very  nobly  felt  was  wrong  in  your 
conduct?  " 


410  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"No.     Not  a  soul  has  advised  me.     If  they  had " 

She  didn't  finish,  but  Biddy  and  I  both  knew  the 
Monny-habit  of  conscientiously  going  against  advice. 

"Thank  you.  You've  changed  your  opinion  of  me, 
then,  without  urging  from  outside." 

"It  has  all  come  fiom  inside.  From  recognition  of 
—  of  what  you  are,  and  what  you've  done  for  —  for  us 
all.  You've  been  a  hero.  And  you've  been  kind  as  well 
as  brave.  Antoun  Effendi,  I  think  you  are  a  very  great 
gentleman,  and  I  respect  Egyptians  for  your  sake." 

"Wait!"  said  Anthony.  "You  haven't  heard  my  con- 
fession. When  I  first  saw  you  on  the  terrace  at  Shep- 
heard's,  I  willed  you  to  look  at  me,  and  you  did  look." 

"How  strange!  Yes,  I  felt  it.  Something  made  me 
look.  Why  did  you  will  me,  Antoun  Effendi?  "  Monny's 
voice  was  soft.  But  it  was  not  like  a  child's  now. 
It  was  a  woman's  voice. 

Listening  with  tingling  ears,  I  knew  what  she  wanted 
him  to  answer.  Perhaps  he  also  knew,  but  he  boldly 
told  the  truth.  "It  was  a  kind  of  wager  I  made  with 
myself.  There  was  some  troublesome  business  I  had 
to  carry  out  in  Cairo.  A  good  deal  hung  upon  it.  I 
saw  your  profile.  You  didn't  turn  my  way,  and  I 
said  to  myself:  'If  by  willing  I  can  make  that  girl  look 
at  me,  I'll  take  it  for  a  sign  that  I  shall  succeed  in  my 
work.'  ' 

"Oh !     It  was  nothing  to  do  with  me?  " 

"Not  then.  Afterward  I  knew  that,  while  I  thought 
my  own  free  will  suggested  my  influencing  you,  it  was 
destiny  that  influenced  me.  Kismet!  It  had  to  happen 
so.  But  you  punished  me  for  my  presumption.  You 


WHAT  WE  SAID:  WHAT  WE  HEARD     411 

treated  me  as  if  I  were  a  slave,  a  Thing  that  hardly  had  a 
place  in  your  world." 

"I  know!  That's  what  I've  asked  you  to  forgive  me 
for." 

"And  because  you've  asked  me  to  forgive,  I'm  telling 
you  this.  I  was  furious;  and  I  said,  'She  shall  be  sorry. 
I  will  make  her  sorry.'  My  whole  wish  was  to  humble 
you.  I  wanted  to  conquer,  and  though  you  classed  me 
with  servants,  to  be  your  master." 

"I  don't  blame  you,  Antoun  Effendi!  And  you  have 
conquered,  in  a  better  way  than  you  meant  when  you 
were  angry  and  hating  me.  You've  conquered  by  show- 
ing your  true  self.  You  are  my  friend.  That's  what 
you  want,  isn't  it?  —  Not  to  be  my  master,  when,  you 
don't  hate  me  any  longer." 

"No,  that  is  not  what  I  want.  I  still  want  to  be  your 
master." 

"Then  you  do  hate  me,  even  now?" 

"No,  I  don't  hate  you,  Mademoiselle  Gilder,  although 
you've  punished  me  over  and  over  again  for  being  the 
brute  I  was  at  first.  You  have  conquered  me,  not  I 
you.  But  I  don't  want  to  be  your  friend.  If  you  didn't 
look  at  me  as  being  a  man  beyond  the  pale,  you  would 
understand  very  well  what  I  want." 

"Don't  say  that!"  cried  Monny,  quickly.  "Don't 
say  that  you're  a  man  beyond  the  pale.  I  can't  stand  it. 
Oh!  I  do  know  what  you' want.  I  do  understand. 
I  think  I  should  have  died  if  you  hadn't  wanted  it.  And 
yet  —  I  could  almost  die  because  you  do." 

"You  could  die  because  I  love  you?" 

"Yes,  of  joy  — and " 


412  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"You  care  for  me?'* 

"Wait!  I  could  die  of  joy,  and  sorrovrtoo.  Joy,  be- 
cause I  do  care,  and  my  heart  longs  for  you  to  care. 
Sorrow,  because  —  oh,  it's  the  saddest  thing  in  the  world, 
but  we  can  never  be  any  more  to  each  other  than  we  are 
now." 

"You  say  that  so  firmly,  because  you  think  of  me  in 
your  heart  as  a  man  of  Egypt.  Dearest  and  most  beau- 
tiful, you  are  great  enough  if  you  choose,  to  mount  to 
your  happiness  over  your  prejudice.  If  you  can  love 
me  in  spite  of  what  I  am " 

"I  love  you  in  spite  of  it,  and  because  of  it,  too;  and 
for  every  reason,  and  for  no  reason." 

"Thank  God  for  that!  You've  said  this  to  me  against 
your  convictions.  I  have  won." 

"No,  for  it's  all  I  can  ever  say.  There  can  be  no  more 
between  us." 

"You  couldn't  love  me  enough  to  be  my  wife,  though 
I  tell  you  now  that  you're  the  star  of  my  soul?  Never 
till  I  saw  you,  have  I  loved  a  woman  or  spoken  a  word 
of  love  to  one,  except  my  beautiful  mother.  I've  kept 
all  for  you,  more  than  I  dreamed  I  had  to  give.  And 
it's  yours  for  ever  and  ever.  But  just  because  you've 
said  to  yourself  that  we're  of  stranger  races,  who  mustn't 
meet  in  love,  you  raise  a  barrier  between  us.  Are  our 
souls  of  stranger  races?  " 

"No.  Sometimes  it  almost  seems  as  if  our  souls  were 
one.  You  have  waked  mine  with  a  spark  from  your  own. 
I  think  I  was  fast  asleep.  I  didn't  know  I  had  a  soul  — 
scarcely  even  a  heart.  But  now  I  know!  Learning  to 
know  you  has  taught  me  to  know  myself.  And  if  I'm 


WHAT  WE  SAID:  WHAT  WE  HEARD      413 

kinder  to  everybody,  all  the  rest  of  my  life  —  even  silly 
rich  people  I  used  to  think  didn't  need  kindness  —  it 
will  be  through  loving  you.  I'm  not  afraid  to  tell  you 
that,  and  though  I  used  to  be  afraid  I  might  love  you, 
I'm  glad  I  do,  now  —  glad !  I  shall  never  regret  anything, 
even  when  I  suffer.  And  I  shall  suffer,  when  we're 
parted." 

"You're  sure  we  must  part?" 

"Sure,  because  there's  no  other  way,  being  what  we 
are,  and  life  being  what  it  is.  Always  I've  thought 
since  my  father  died,  that  he  was  near  me,  watching  to 
see  what  I  did  with  my  life.  For  he  loved  me  dearly, 
and  I  loved  him.  We  were  everything  to  each  other. 
Even  if  that  were  the  only  reason,  I  couldn't  do  a  thing 
that  would  have  broken  his  heart.  It  would  be  treach- 
erous, now  that  he's  helpless  to  forbid  me.  Don't  you 
see?" 

"I  see.     And  if  it  were  not  for  that  reason?" 

"If  it  were  not  for  that  —  oh,  I  don't  know,  I  don't 
know!  But  yes,  I  do  know.  The  truth  comes  to  me. 
It  speaks  out  of  my  heart.  If  it  were  only  for  myself 
if  I  felt  free  from  a  vow,  nothing  could  make  me  say 
to  you, '  Go  out  of  my  life ! ' 

"  That's  what  I  wanted  to  be  sure  of.  I  could  thank  you 
on  my  knees  for  those  words.  For  I,  too,  have  made  a 
vow  which  I  won't  break.  And  if  I  were  free  of  it,  I 
might  tell  you  a  thing  now  which  would  beat  down  the 
barrier.  Well!  We  will  keep  our  vows,  both  of  us,  my 
Queen." 

"Yes,  we  must  keep  them.  But  oh,  how  are  we  to 
bear  it?  Fate  has  brought  us  together,  and  it's  going  to 


414  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

part  us.  We  love  each  other,  and  we  must  go  out  of  one 
another's  lives.  What  shall  we  do  when  we  can't  see  each 
other  any  more  —  ever  any  more?  " 

"That  time  shall  not  come." 

"But  it  must  —  soon." 

"Will  you  trust  me,  till  Khartum?" 

"I'll  trust  you  always." 

"I  mean  for  a  special  thing  —  just  till  Khartum.  In 
the  foolish  days  when  I  wished  to  conquer  you,  and  make 
you  humble  yourself  to  me,  I  vowed  by  my  mother's 
love  that  I'd  not  tell  you,  or  let  Borrow  tell,  a  fact  about 
myself  which  might  win  your  favour.  It  was  a  bad  vow 
to  make:  a  stupid  vow.  But  a  vow  by  my  mother's 
love  I  could  not  break,  any  more  than  you  can  break 
one  to  your  father's  memory.  I'll  abide  by  it:  but  trust 
me  till  Khartum,  and  there  you  shall  know  what  I  can't 
tell  you  now.  I  always  hoped  you  would  find  out  there 
—  if  we  went  as  far  as  Khartum  together.  Then  I  hoped, 
because  I  was  a  conceited  fool.  Now  I  hope  this  thing 
—  and  all  it  means  —  because  I  am  your  lover." 

"Ah,  dear  Antoun,  don't  hope.  Because  it  seems  to 
me  that  nothing  nearer  than  Heaven  can  bring  us  the 
kind  of  happiness  you  want." 

"If  you  hadn't  told  me  you  cared,  nothing  that  may 
come  at  Khartum  could  have  brought  any  happiness  to 
me  at  all.  For  it  would  have  been  too  late  after  that,  for 
you  to  say  you  cared  —  and  for  the  word  to  have  the 
value  it  has  now.  You've  said  it  —  in  spite  of  yourself. 
Trust  me  for  the  rest.  Will  you?" 

"If  you  ask  me  like  that  —  yes.  I  trust  you.  Though 
I  don't  understand." 


WHAT  WE  SAID:  WHAT  WE  HEARD      415 

"That's  what  I  want.  Say  this.  'I  believe  that  we 
shall  be  happy;  and  I  trust  without  understanding,  that 
it  will  be  proved  at  Khartum.' '' 

Monny  repeated  the  words  after  him.  And  although 
I  was  that  vile  worm,  an  eavesdropper,  I  was  so  happy  that 
I  could  have  picked  Biddy  up  in  my  arms,  and  waved  her 
like  a  flag.  Anthony  was  going  to  be  happy,  and  that 
ought  to  be  a  good  omen  that  I  should  be  happy  too. 

"I  am  almost  happy  now,"  Monny  went  on.  "Hap- 
pier than  I  thought  I  could  be,  with  things  as  they  are. 
I  used  to  be  miserable,  partly  about  myself,  partly  be- 
cause I  thought  you  were  in  love  with  Biddy  (you  were 
so  much  nicer  to  her  than  me!),  and  partly  because  I 
believed,  till  I  knew  you  well,  that  you  wanted  to  marry 
Aunt  Clara  for  money,  though  you  cared  for  some 
one  else.  I  even  told  Lord  Ernest  that  about  you. 
I  had  to  tell  somebody!  And  besides,  I  felt  it  would 
be  good  for  him  to  think  you  cared  for  Biddy.  Being 
jealous  might  wake  him  up  to  see  that  he  was  in  love 
with  her  himself.  He  really  is  rather  a  duffer,  at 
times!  And  oh,  talking  of  him  and  Biddy  reminds  me 
of  them!  Where  can  they  be,  all  this  time?" 

"Heaven  alone  knows  —  or  cares,"  replied  Anthony. 
And  I  realized  the  truth  of  the  proverb  about  listeners, 
even  where  their  best  friends  are  concerned.  I  was  obliged 
to  kiss  Biddy  to  keep  from  laughing  out  loud.  And  she 
couldn't  scream  or  box  my  ears,  or  all  our  dreadful  precau- 
tions would  have  been  vain. 

"We  must  find  them,"  said  Monny. 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  if  we  don't,  they  might  find  us." 


416  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Anthony  laughed  —  a  give-away,  English-sounding 
laugh.  But  Monny  did  not  recognize  its  birthplace.  Her 
own  laugh  interrupted  it  too  soon,  ringing  out  so  happily, 
it  probably  surprised  herself. 

"//  they  find  us  here!"  quavered  Biddy,  clinging  to  me. 

"  They  can't,  if  only  you'll  let  me  hold  you  tight  enough," 
I  whispered.  "If  they  look  in,  they'll  just  take  us  for  a 
black  spot  in  the  dark ! " 

But  they  didn't  look  in.  They  went  downstairs.  And 
then  was  the  time  to  get  in  the  rest  of  my  deadly  work 
with  Biddy.  We  must  wait  a  few  minutes,  or  they 
couldn't  help  knowing  we'd  been  near  them:  and  I  made 
the  best  use  of  those  few  minutes.  Biddy  wouldn't  prom- 
ise anything,  but  said  that  she  would  think  it  over,  and 
let  me  know  the  result  of  her  thinking  in  a  day  or  two. 

To  our  great  surprise,  on  arriving  in  open  air  at  the 
level  of  the  roof  below,  we  saw  that  the  sun  was  gone,  and 
a  slim  young  moon  was  sliding  down  the  rose-red  trail. 
It  is  indeed  wonderful,  say  prophets  of  the  obvious,  he  A* 
quickly  time  passes  when  your  attention  is  engaged! 
And  one  comfort  of  being  obvious  is,  that  you  are  gen- 
erally right. 

We  tried  to  flit  forth  from  the  dark  recess  of  the  pylon 
stairway  without  being  seen  or  heard;  but  as  luck  would 
have  it,  Monny  and  Fenton  had  had  just  time  to  dis- 
cover that  our  boat  was  gone.  The  girl  was  hunting  for 
us,  to  see  if  we  were  "anywhere,"  or  if  in  some  mad  freak 
we  could  have  gone  off  and  left  them  to  their  fate.  As 
we  sneaked  guiltily  out,  she  caught  us. 

"Biddy!  Lord  Ernest !"  she  exclaimed.  "Why  — why 
—  you  have  been  upstairs! " 


WHAT  WE  SAID:  WHAT  WE  HEARD      417 

A  good  rule  for  diplomats,  duffers,  and  others,  is  never 
to  tell  a  falsehood  when  there  is  no  hope  that  any  one  will 
believe  it. 

"We  —  er  —  yes,"  we  both  mumbled. 

"But  —  there  isn't  any  upstairs  except  —  where  we 
were." 

"Yes  there  is,"  Biddy  assured  her  hastily  —  too  hastily. 
"You  were  on  the  roof.  We  were  in  the  little  room  of  the 
guardian." 

"He  showed  it  to  us.  There's  a  window.  Oh,  we  were 
under  it  I  You  must  both  have  heard." 

"Murder  will  out,"  I  said,  with  the  calmness  of  de- 
spair. But  then  it  occurred  to  me  that  there  was  a  way 
of  using  the  weapon  which  threatened,  as  a  boomerang. 

"Dearest,"  Biddy  adjured  her  beloved,  humbly,  "you 
wouldn't  have  had  us  spoil  everything  by  moving,  would 
you?  I  said  to  the  Duffer  when  he  wanted  to  do  some- 
thing desperate,  'If  we  interrupt  them,  nothing  will  ever 
come  right '  ' 

"Besides,  we  were  too  busy  getting  engaged  our- 
selves," said  I,  "to  bother  for  long  about  what  anybody 
else  was  saying  or  doing." 

"You  were!     Oh,  Biddy,  that's  what  I've  prayed  for." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort!"  began  Mrs.  O'Brien,  fero- 
ciously. But  the  boomerang  had  come  to  my  hand,  and 
I'd  caught  it  on  the  fly.  Before  she  could  go  on  contra- 
dicting me,  Anthony,  followed  by  the  guardian  of  the  tem- 
ple, had  mounted  the  steps  from  the  lower  ledge  of  the 
roof,  where  we  had  landed  in  the  afternoon. 

"It  wasn't  you  who  took  the  boat,  then,  for  a  joke!" 
said  Fenton,  at  sight  of  us.  And  the  mystery  of  our 


418  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

felucca's  disappearance  had  to  be  discussed.  Biddy  saw 
to  it  that  Monny  couldn't  edge  in  a  word  on  the  forbidden 
subject.  How  those  two  would  talk  later,  in  Miss  Gilder's 
stateroom! 

Nobody  could  explain  what  had  happened,  not  even 
the  guardian.  He,  it  seemed,  spent  his  night  at  the  siren 
temple  in  the  water,  sleeping  in  the  cell  where  I  had 
blackmailed  Biddy,  and  not  even  appearing  to  know 
that  the  custom  scintillated  with  romance.  By  and  by 
his  companion  who  joined  him  for  night  work,  would 
arrive  in  a  small  boat,  bringing  food;  but  this  man 
rowed  himself,  and  neither  could  leave  the  temple  again 
that  night. 

"You  will  lend  the  boat  to  us,"  said  Anthony.  "We'll 
row,  and  send  it  back  to  you  here  by  some  one  who  is 
trustworthy." 

"We  have  no  right  to  lend  the  boat,"  returned  the 
Nubian. 

"Then  I  will  steal  it,"  replied  the  Hadji. 

But  none  of  us  cared  how  long  a  time  might  pass  before 
deliverance  came.  The  Enchantress  Isis  couldn't  steam 
away  and  leave  her  Conductor  behind.  As  Mrs.  East 
had  disappeared,  I  vaguely  associated  the  puzzle  of  our 
missing  craft  with  Sir  Marcus;  and  anyhow,  curiosity 
wasn't  the  strongest  emotion  in  my  being  just  then. 
I  thought  that  perhaps  never  in  my  life  again  would 
love  and  romance  and  beauty  all  blend  together  in 
one,  as  here  at  Philae  in  the  moonlight.  The  sharp 
sickle  of  the  young  moon  cut  a  silver  edge  on  each  tiny 
wave,  that  murmured  against  the  submerged  pillars  like 
a  chanting  of  priests  under  the  sea.  The  temple  com- 


WHAT  WE  SAID:  WHAT  WE  HEARD      419 

memorating  love  triumphant  was  carved  in  silver,  and 
drowned  in  a  silver  flood.  The  flowering  capitols  of  the 
columns  as  they  showed  above  the  water,  blossomed  white 
as  lilies  bound  together  in  sheaves  with  silver  cords,  and 
placed  before  an  altar. 

Yes,  Egypt  was  giving  us  what  we  asked.  But  would 
she  give  us  all  we  asked?  Just  as  there  might  have  been 
a  renewed  chance  of  getting  an  answer  to  this  question, 
black  men  in  a  black  boat  hailed  us.  Sir  Marcus  had 
deigned  at  last  to  remember  our  plight. 


XXVII 
THE    INNER  SANCTUARY 

WE  MADE  a  sensation  when  we  returned  to  the  fold. 
Everybody  wondered  so  much  that  they  gave  us  no  time 
to  answer  their  questions,  even  if  we  would.  But  some- 
how it  seemed  to  be  taken  for  granted  that  the  whole 
thing  was  my  fault.  Perhaps  Mrs.  East  or  Sir  Marcus 
had  spread  the  report.  I  let  it  pass. 

As  for  Sir  Marcus,  he  stayed  only  long  enough  for  a 
talk  with  me.  It  began  with  trumped-up  business,  and 
ended  in  a  confession.  She  had  snubbed  him,  it  seemed. 
Snubs  being  new  to  Sir  Marcus,  he  had  been  dazed,  and 
had  forgotten  for  a  while  to  send  us  a  boat.  I  assured 
him  that  we  bore  no  grudge,  really  none  whatever.  It 
had  been  quite  an  adventure.  And  I  tried  to  cheer  him 
up.  Better  luck  next  time!  Why  wouldn't  he  go  on 
with  us?  Fenton  and  I  could  chum  together,  to  give  him 
cabin-room.  And  Neill  Sheridan,  the  American  Egyp- 
tologist, had  let  me  know  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave 
us  at  Wady  Haifa.  There  would  be  an  empty  cabin, 
going  down  again.  But  no,  the  "Boss"  refused  his  Con- 
ductor's hospitality.  "I  think  the  less  she  sees  of  me, 
the  better  she  likes  me,"  he  said  dismally.  "She  was 
civil  enough  until  I  —  but  no  matter.  I  suppose  a  man 
can't  expect  his  luck  to  always  hold." 

420 


THE  INNER  SANCTUARY  421 

"Don't  split  your  infinitives  till  things  get  desperate," 
I  begged.  "It  hasn't  come  to  that  yet.  If  you  must  go 
back,  I'll  take  it  on  my  shoulders  to  watch  your  private 
interests  a  bit,  as  well  as  the  rest.  Look  out  for  a  tele- 
gram one  of  these  fine  days,  saying  'Come  at  once.' 
You'll  know  what  it  means." 

" I  will,  bless  you,  my  boy,"  he  said  heartily.  "Though 
I  am  hanged  if  I  know  what  you  mean  by  a  split  infinitive. 
I  hope  if  its  improper,  I've  never  inadvertently  done  it 
before  a  lady." 

There  seemed  to  be  an  atmosphere  of  suspense  for  every- 
body who  mattered,  as  we  steamed  on  between  strange 
black  mountainettes,  and  tiger-golden  sands  toward  Wady 
Haifa.  Anthony  was  in  suspense  about  the  way  his  fate 
might  arrange  itself  at  Khartum.  I  was  in  suspense  as 
to  Biddy's  decision,  which  nothing  I  was  able  to  say 
could  wheedle  or  browbeat  out  of  her.  He  and  I  were 
both  in  suspense  together,  about  the  Mountain  of  the 
Golden  Pyramid.  It  would  be  ours  now,  we  knew  that. 
But  what  would  be  in  it?  Would  it  be  full  of  treasure, 
or  full  of  nothing  but  mountain,  just  as  a  crusty  baked 
pudding  is  full  of  pudding?  The  doubt  was  harder  to 
bear,  now  that  Anthony  was  in  love  with  a  very  rich  girl, 
and  desired  something  from  the  mountain  more  substan- 
tial than  the  adventure  which  would  once  have  contented 
him.  Harder  to  bear  for  me,  too,  wanting  Biddy  and 
wanting  to  give  her  luxury  as  well  as  peace,  such  as 
she  had  never  known  in  her  life  of  tragedy  and  brave 
laughter. 

Monny  was  in  suspense  quite  equal  to  Anthony's 
about  Khartum,  and  what  could  possibly  happen  there 


422  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

to  give  her  happiness.  Brigit  was  in  suspense  about 
the  two  men  who  had  so  strangely  and  secretly  worked 
with  their  spy,  Bedr,  and  whom  she  expected  to 
meet  again  later.  Rachel  was  in  suspense  about  Bailey, 
although  I  had  told  her  it  was  "going  to  be  all  right," 
and  he  had  said  not  a  word  of  the  business  to  her. 
What  she  wanted,  was  to  make  sure  of  him,  and  there 
was  the  difficulty  at  present,  since  we  had  failed  to  ar- 
range for  a  registry -office  or  a  clergyman  on  board.  Other 
hearts  were  no  doubt  throbbing  with  the  same  emotions, 
but  they  were  of  comparatively  small  importance  to  me. 

Our  feelings  were  all  so  different  and  so  much  more 
intense  than  they  had  been,  that  the  extraordinary  dif- 
ference in  the  scenery  gave  us  a  vague  sense  of  satisfac- 
tion. We  were  in  another  world,  now  that  we  had  heard 
the  first  cataract's  roar,  and  left  it  behind;  a  world  utterly 
unlike  any  conceptions  we  had  formed  of  Egypt.  But 
we  did  not  for  a  long  time  leave  the  influence  of  the  Bar- 
rage. Black  rocks  ringed  in  a  blue  basin  so  lake-like 
that  it  was  hard  to  realize  it  as  the  Nile.  Now  and  then 
a  yellow  river  of  sand  poured  down  to  the  sapphire  sea, 
and  where  its  bright  waves  were  reflected,  the  water 
became  liquid  gold  under  a  surface  of  blue  glass.  The 
sky  was  overcast,  and  through  a  thick  silver  veil,  the 
sun  shone  with  a  mystic  light  as  of  a  lamp  burning  in  an 
alabaster  globe;  yet  the  flaming  gold  of  the  sand  created 
an  illusion  as  of  sunshine.  It  was  as  if  the  treasure  of  all 
the  lost  mines  of  Nub  had  been  flung  out  on  the  black 
rocks,  and  lay  in  a  glittering  carpet  there. 

We  passed  small,  submerged  temples,  with  their  fore- 
heads just  above  water;  drowning  palm  groves  whose 


THE  INNER  SANCTUARY  423 

plumes  trailed  sadly  on  the  blue  expanse,  and  deserted 
mud- villages  where  the  high  Nile  looked  in  at  open  doors 
to  say,  "This  is  for  Egypt's  good'"" 

Then  there  was  the  little  Temple  of  Dendur,  whose 
patron  goddess  was  prayed  to  spit  if  rain  were  needed; 
and  so  many  other  ruined  temples  that  we  lost  count 
(though  one  was  the  largest  in  Nubia)  until  we  came  to 
Wadi-es-Sabua,  "the  Valley  of  the  Lions."  This  we  re- 
membered, not  because  it  was  imposing,  or  because  it  had 
a  dromos  of  noble-faced  sphinxes  —  the  only  hawk-faced 
ones  in  Egypt  —  or  because  of  its  prehistoric  writings, 
on  dark  boulders;  or  because  it  had  been  used  as  a  Chris- 
tian Church :  but  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  ladies  bought 
rag  dolls  from  little  Nubian  girls,  who  wore  their  hair  in 
a  million  greased  braids.  Here  the  influence  of  the  Dam 
faded  out  of  sight.  Forlorn  trees  and  houses  no  longer 
crawled  half  out  of  water.  Mountains  crowded  down  to 
the  shore,  wild  and  dark  and  stately  as  Nubian  warriors 
of  ancient  days.  Then  came  Korosko,  point  of  depart- 
ure for  the  old  caravan  route,  where  kings  of  forgotten 
Egyptian  dynasties  sent  for  acacia  wood,  and  English- 
men in  the  Campaign  of  the  Cataracts  fought  and  died; 
deserted  now,  with  houses  dead  and  decayed,  their  win- 
dows staring  like  the  eye-sockets  of  skulls;  and  the  black, 
tortured  mountain-shapes  behind,  lurking  in  the  back- 
ground as  hyenas  lurk  to  prey.  More  temples,  and  many 
sakkeyehs  (no  shadoofs  here,  on  the  Upper  Nile)  but  few 
boats.  The  spacious  times  were  past,  when  loads  of  pink 
granite,  honey-coloured  sandstone,  fragrant  woods,  and 
spices  from  the  Land  of  Punt,  went  floating  down  the 
stream ! 


424  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

There  were  tombs  as  well  as  temples  which  we  might 
have  seen,  savage  gorges  and  mild  green  hills.  There  was 
the  great  grim  fort  of  Kasr  Ibrim;  and  at  last  —  there 
was  Abu  Simbel. 

Somehow  I  knew  that  things  were  bound  to  happen  at 
Abu  Simbel.  I  didn't  know  what  they  would  be,  but 
they  hovered  invisible  at  my  berth-side  in  the  night,  and 
whispered  to  warn  me  that  I  might  expect  them. 

A  few  people  rose  stealthily  before  dawn  to  prepare  for 
Abu  Simbel,  because  it  had  been  hammered  into  their 
intellects  by  me  that  this  Rock-Temple  was  the  Great 
Thing  of  the  Upper  Nile.  Also  that  every  he,  she, 
or  it,  who  did  not  behold  the  place  at  sunrise  would  be 
as  mean  a  worm  as  one  who  had  not  read  the  "Arabian 
Nights." 

Not  everybody  heeded  the  advice,  though  at  bedtime 
most  had  resolved  to  do  so.  We  had  anchored  for  the 
night  not  far  off,  in  order  to  have  the  mysterious  light 
before  sun-up,  to  go  on  again,  and  see  the  grand  approach 
to  the  grandest  temple  of  the  Old  World.  But  after  all, 
most  of  the  cabin  eyelids  were  still  down  when  we  ar- 
rived before  dawn  at  our  journey's  end,  and  only  a  few 
intrepid  ghosts  flitted  out  on  deck;  elderly  male  ghosts 
in  thick  dressing-gowns :  youthful  ghosts  of  the  same  sex, 
fully  clothed  and  decently  groomed  because  of  cloaked 
girl-ghosts,  with  floating  hair  (if  there  were  enough  to 
float  effectively:  others  made  a  virtue  of  having  it  put 
up):  and  middle-aged  female  ghosts,  with  transforma- 
tions apparently  hind-side  in  front. 

No  ghost's  looks  mattered  much,  however,  for  good  or 
ill,  once  the  slowly  moving  Enchantress  had  swept  aside  a 


THE  INNER  SANCTUARY  425 

purple  curtain  of  distance  and  shown  us  such  a  stage- 
setting  as  only  Nature's  stupendous  theatre  can  give. 

It  was  a  stage  still  dimly,  but  most  effectively  revealed : 
lights  down:  pale  blue,  lilac  and  cold  green;  a  thrilling, 
almost  sinister  combination:  no  gold  or  rose  switched  on 
yet.  Turned  obliquely  toward  the  river,  facing  slightly 
northward,  four  figures  sat  on  thrones,  super-giants,  im- 
mobile, incredible,  against  a  background  of  rock  whence 
they  had  been  released  by  forgotten  sculptors  —  released 
to  live  while  the  world  lasted.  These  seated  kings  gave 
the  first  shock  of  awed  admiration;  then  lesser  marvels 
detached  themselves  in  detail  from  the  shadows  of  the 
vast  facade;  the  frieze,  the  cornice,  the  sun-god  in  his  niche 
over  the  door  of  the  Great  Temple:  the  smaller  Temple 
of  Hathor,  divided  from  her  huge  brother  by  a  cataract 
of  sand,  whose  piled  gold-dust  already  called  the  sun,  as 
a  magnet  calls  iron. 

The  stage-lights  were  still  down  when  the  Enchantress 
moored  by  the  river  bank,  within  a  comparatively  short 
walk  of  the  mountain  which  Rameses  II  had  turned  into 
a  temple,  as  usual  glorifying  himself.  But  though  the 
walk  was  comparatively  short,  on  second  thoughts  elderly 
ghosts  already  chilled  to  the  bone,  funked  it  on  empty 
stomachs.  They  made  various  excuses  for  putting  off  the 
excursion  (the  boat  was  to  remain  till  late  afternoon), 
until  finally  the  sun-worshippers  were  reduced  to  a  party 
of  ten. 

Since  Philae,  Biddy  had  kept  out  of  my  way  when  she 
could  do  so  without  being  actually  rude;  but  as  our  small, 
shivering  procession  formed,  she  suddenly  appeared  at  my 
side.  Thus  we  two  headed  the  band,  save  for  a  sleepy 


426  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

dragoman  who  knew  the  rather  intricate  paths  through 
scaly  dried  mud,  sand,  and  vegetation. 

"I  want  to  say  something  to  you,  Duffer,"  she  mur- 
mured; and  the  roughness  of  the  way  excused  me  for 
slipping  her  arm  through  mine. 

"Not  as  much  as  I  want  to  say  something  to  you,"  I 
retorted  fervently. 

"But  this  is  serious,"  she  reproached  me. 

"So  is " 

"Please  listen.  There  isn't  much  time.  I  heard  this 
only  last  night,  or  I'd  have  spoken  before,  and  asked  you 
what  you  thought.  Do  you  happen  to  know  whether 
Captain  Fenton  wrote  a  note  to  Monny,  asking  her  to 
wait  for  him  in  the  inner  sanctuary  of  the  temple  till 
after  the  people  had  gone,  as  he  wanted  to  see  her  alone 
about  something  of  great  importance?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said.  "Anthony  hasn't  mentioned 
Miss  Gilder's  name  to  me  since  Philae.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  he's  been  particularly  taciturn." 

"You  haven't  quarrelled,  surely?" 

"Anthony  and  I!  Thank  goodness,  no.  But  I'm 
afraid  he  misunderstands,  and  is  a  bit  annoyed.  Miss 
Gilder  of  course  told  him  we'd  overheard  a  certain  con- 
versation, and  he's  never  given  me  a  chance  to  explain. 
After  Khartum  it  will  be  all  right,  if  not  before,  but 
meanwhile " 

"I  see.  Then  let  me  tell  you  quickly  what's  happened. 
When  we  came  back  on  board  the  boat,  after  climbing 
about  the  fort  of  Kasr  Ibrim,  Monny  found  on  the  table 
in  her  cabin  a  note  in  French,  typewritten  on  Enchantress 
Isis  paper.  It  had  no  beginning  or  signature,  only  an 


THE  INNER  SANCTUARY  427 

urgent  request  to  grant  the  writer  five  minutes  just  after 
sunrise,  in  the  sanctuary  at  Abu  Simbel,  as  soon  as  every 
one  was  out  of  the  way.  There's  only  one  typewriter  on 
board,  isn't  there?  " 

"Yes,  Kruger's." 

"  And  nobody  but  you  and  he  and  Captain  Fenton  ever 
use  it,  I  suppose?" 

"Nobody  else,  so  far  as  I  know." 

"Captain  Fenton  didn't  land  with  us  to  see  the  fort, 
but  came  up  later,  just  as  we  were  ready  to  go  down. 
Well,  for  all  these  reasons  and  the  note  being  in  French 
Monny  thinks  it  was  written  by  Antoun  Effendi.  It  was 
only  in  chatting  last  night  about  the  sunrise  expedition 
that  she  mentioned  finding  the  letter.  I  begged  her  to 
make  certain  it  was  from  him,  before  doing  what  it  asked; 
because,  you  see,  I'm  still  afraid  of  anything  that 
seems  queer  or  mysterious.  But  she  laughed  and  said, 
'What  nonsense!  Who  else  could  have  written  it  except 
Lord  Ernest,  unless  you  think  Mr.  Kruger's  in  a  plot.' 
And  she  refused  to  question  Antoun,  because  if  he'd 
wanted  the  thing  to  be  talked  over,  he'd  have  spoken 
instead  of  writing.  As  for  doing  what  he  asked,  she  pre- 
tended not  to  have  made  up  her  mind.  She  said  she'd 
'see  what  mood  she  was  in,'  after  the  others  had 
finished  with  the  sanctuary.  Well,  what  I  want,  is  for 
you  and  me  to  stay  in  the  place  ourselves  when  the  others 
have  gone." 

"With  the  greatest  of  pleasure  on  earth!"  said  I. 

"Don't  be  foolish.     You  aren't  to  torment  me  there." 

"That  depends  on  what  you  call  'tormenting.'  If 
I'm  to  be  made  a  spoil-sport  for  Fenton  and  Miss  Gilder, 


H8  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

a  kind  of  live  scarecrow,  I  mean  to  get  something  out  of 
it  for  myself." 

There  was  no  time  for  more.  We  had  arrived  at  the 
foot  of  the  long  flight  of  stone  steps  which  lead  up  to  the 
rocky  plateau  of  the  Great  Temple.  In  the  east,  a  golden 
fire  below  the  horizon  was  sending  up  premonitory  flames, 
and  the  procession  must  bestir  itself,  or  be  too  late. 
The  whole  object  of  arriving  at  this  unearthly  hour 
would  be  defeated,  if,  before  the  sun's  forefinger  touched 
the  faces  of  the  altar  statues,  we  were  not  in  the  sanctu- 
ary. No  time  to  study  the  features  of  the  Colossi,  or  to 
search  for  the  grave  of  Major  Tidwell.  These  things  must 
wait.  The  dark-faced  guardian  examined  our  tickets, 
and  let  us  file  through  the  rock-hewn  doorway,  whose 
iron  grille  he  had  just  opened.  As  we  passed  into  the 
cavernous  hall  of  roughly  carved  Osiride  columns,  the 
huge  figures  attached  to  them  loomed  vaguely  out  of 
purple  gloom.  There  was  an  impression  of  sculptured 
rock  walls,  with  splashes  of  colour  here  and  there;  of 
columns  in  a  chamber  beyond,  and  still  a  third  chamber, 
whence  three  rooms  opened  off,  the  side  doorways  mere 
blocks  of  ebony  in  the  dimness.  But  already  the  sun's 
first  ray  groped  for  its  goal,  like  the  wandering  finger  of  a 
blind  man.  We  had  only  time  to  hurry  through  the 
faintly  lit  middle  doorway,  and  plaster  ourselves  round 
the  rock  walls  of  the  sanctuary,  when  the  golden  digit 
touched  the  altar  and  found  the  four  sculptured  forms 
above:  Harmachis,  Rameses,  Amen  and  Ptah.  Night 
lingered  in  the  temple,  a  black,  brooding  vulture.  But 
suddenly  the  bird's  dark  breast  was  struck  by  a  golden 
bullet  and  from  the  wound  a  magic  radiance  grew.  The 


THE  INNER  SANCTUARY  429 

effect,  carefully  calculated  by  priests  and  builders  thou- 
sands of  years  ago,  was  as  thrilling  to-day  as  on  the 
morning  when  the  sun  first  poured  gold  upon  the  altar. 
The  sightless  faces  of  the  statues  were  given  eyes  of  an 
unearthly  brilliance  to  stare  into  ours,  and  search  our 
souls.  But  with  most  of  the  party,  to  be  thrilled  for  a 
minute  was  enough.  As  the  sun's  finger  began  to  move, 
they  found  it  time  to  move  also.  There  was  the  whole 
temple  to  be  seen,  and  then  the  walk  back  to  the  boat 
before  dressing  for  breakfast. 

Soon  Biddy  and  I  had  —  or  seemed  to  have  —  the 
sanctuary  to  ourselves.  Even  the  sun's  ray  had  left 
us,  mounting  higher  and  passing  above  the  doorway  of 
the  inner  shrine.  The  momentarily  disturbed  shadows 
folded  round  us  again,  with  only  a  faint  glimmer  on  the 
wall  over  the  altar  to  show  that  day  was  born. 

"Did  you  notice  that  Monny  wasn't  with  the  others?" 
asked  Brigit,  in  a  low  voice.  "She  lingered  behind,  I 
think,  and  never  came  near  us.  I  wasn't  sure  till  I 
watched  the  rest  filing  out  of  this  room.  Then  I  saw  she 
wasn't  among  them.  Neither  was  Captain  Fenton." 

"If  they're  together,  it's  all  right,"  I  assured  her. 

"  Yes,  but  are  they  ?  That  affair  of  the  typewritten  note 
has  worried  me." 

"You're  very  nervous,  darling.     But  no  wonder!" 

"You  mustn't  call  me  'darling.' ' 

"Why  not?  It's  no  worse  than  Duffer.  I  like  your 
calling  me  that." 

"  I  wonder  if  we  ought  to  go,  as  she  never  came  —  or 
stay  and  wait?  " 

"If  we  go,  we  shall  be  playing  into  Miss  Gilder's  hands. 


430  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

If  we  stay,  we  shall  be  playing  into  mine.  Which  do  you 
prefer?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  we'd  better  stay  —  for  fear  of  some- 
thing. But  you  must  be  good." 

Then  abruptly  I  attacked  her  with  a  change  of  weapons. 
I  had  fenced  lightly,  knowing  that  Biddy  liked  a  man  who 
could  laugh.  But  now  I  threw  away  my  rapier  and 
snatched  a  club.  I  told  her  I  would  stand  no  more  of 
this.  Did  she  want  to  spoil  my  life  and  break  my  heart? 
She  was  the  one  thing  I  needed.  Now  she  would  have  to 
say  whether  she'd  put  me  off  because  she  didn't  love  me 
and  never  could,  or  because  of  that  trash  about  not 
wanting  to  involve  me  in  her  troubles.  No  use  pre- 
varicating! I  should  know  whether  she  lied  or  told  the 
truth  by  the  sound  of  her  voice.  But  I  might  as  well 
confess  before  she  began,  that  I'd  rather  be  loved  by  her 
and  refused,  than  not  loved  and.  refused.  Women  seemed 
to  think  the  unselfish  thing  was  to  pretend  not  to  care, 
if  a  man  had  to  be  sent  away;  because  in  the  end  that 
made  it  easier  for  him.  But  in  real  life,  with  a  real  man, 
it  was  the  other  way  round. 

"I  think  you're  right,  Duffer,"  Biddy  said  softly. 
"That's  why  I  wouldn't  answer  you  for  good  and  all,  that 
night  at  Philae.  I  felt  then  it  might  be  kinder  to  tell  you 
I  could  never  care.  But  I've  thought  of  nothing  else 
since  —  except  a  little  about  Monny  —  and  I  decided  that 
if  it  were  me,  I'd  rather  be  loved,  whatever  happened. 
Men  can't  be  so  very  different  where  their  hearts  are  con- 
cerned. So  I'm  going  to  tell  you  I  do  love  you.  It  was 
hard  to  give  you  to  Monny.  But  I  thought  it  would  be  for 
your  happiness.  I  nearly  died  of  love  for  you  when  I  was 


THE  INNER  SANCTUARY  431 

a  little  girl.  I  kept  every  tiniest  thing  you  ever  gave  me. 
I  was  in  love  with  your  memory  when  you  went  up  to 
Oxford.  And  it  was  then  Richard  O'Brien  came.  He 
swept  me  off  my  feet,  and  made  me  think  my  heart  was 
caught  in  the  rebound.  When  it  was  too  late,  I  realised 
that  it  hadn't  been  caught  at  all.  Only  hypnotized  for 
a  while.  I've  loved  you  always,  Duffer  dear.  The 
thought  of  you  was  my  one  comfort,  often,  although  I 
hardly  expected  to  see  you  again :  or  maybe,  for  that  very 
reason.  No,  don't  touch  me!  please  let  me  go  on  now, 
or  I'll  not  tell  you  any  more.  I  wonder  if  you  never 
guessed  what  I  had  in  that  chamois-skin  bag  you're  so 
worried  about?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  did  guess,  Biddy,  right  or  wrong." 

"And  I'll  bet  you  it  was  wrong!  What  did  you  think, 
when  I  wouldn't  understand  any  of  your  hints  to  tell 
what  I  wore  over  my  heart?" 

"I  thought  then,"  I  answered  after  a  moment's  de- 
liberation, "that  you  kept  —  compromising  documents 
which  might  be  of  interest  to  the  organization  you 
and  I  have  talked  about.  Now  I  think  differently. 
I  think  you  kept  a  lock  of  my  childish  hair,  or  my  first 
tooth." 

"You  conceited  Duffer!  —  not  so  bad  as  that,  because 
I  had  never  a  chance  of  getting  either.  Once  I  did  keep 
in  that  bag  just  what  you  said :  compromising  documents, 
that  the  organization  would  have  given  thousands  of 
dollars  to  get.  And  my  life  wouldn't  have  stood  in  their 
way  for  a  minute,  I'm  sure.  But  that  was  before  Rich- 
ard died.  He  was  afraid  —  I  mean,  I  thought  it  would 
be  better  and  less  suspicious  if  /  had  charge  of  the 


432  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

papers.  And  if  the  Society  had  ever  got  hold  of  him,  he 
believed  the  letters  and  lists  of  names  I  had,  might  have 
bought  back  his  safety,  if  I  played  my  hand  well.  He\ 
told  me  just  what  to  do.  But  when  he  was  ill,  he  had 
a  nurse  whom  I  began  to  suspect  as  a  spy.  Once  wher 
I  was  called  into  Richard's  room  suddenly,  half  dressed, 
the  chamois-skin  bag  showed,  as  my  wrapper  fell  open  at 
the  breast.  I  caught  her  looking  at  it  with  an  cage 
look;  and  that  very  night  I  had  it  locked  up  in  a  bank 
It  was  only  a  few  days  later  that  Richard  died;  and  with 
him  gone,  I  felt  there  was  no  more  need  to  keep  papers 
which  might  cost  the  lives  or  liberty  of  men.  Richard  had 
wronged  his  friends,  and  I  wanted  none  of  them  to  come 
to  harm  through  me,  though  they'd  made  me  suffer  with 
him.  I  burned  every  scrap  of  paper  I  had,  every  single 
one!  And  it  wasn't  till  there  was  an  attempt  to  kid- 
nap Esme  that  I  asked  myself  if  I'd  been  right.  Still, 
even  now,  I  am  not  sorry.  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  their 
heads.  For  a  while  the  bag  was  empty;  but  coming  away 
from  America  and  feeling  a  bit  lonesome,  I  thought  it 
would  do  me  good  to  look  now  and  then  at  the  only  love- 
letter  you  ever  wrote  me.  It  was  on  my  ninth  birthday 
—  but  I  don't  believe  you  could  write  a  better  one  now. 
There  was  a  photograph,  too,  of  my  lord  when  he  was 
seventeen.  I  stole  that,  but  it  was  all  the  dearer.  At 
this  very  minute,  the  letter  and  the  picture  are  lying  on 
my  heart.  So  now  you  know  whether  I  care  for  you  or 
not;  and  you  can  understand  why  I  wouldn't  put  the  bag 
into  a  bank." 

"Oh,  Biddy  darling,"  I  said,  "you've  made  me  the  hap- 
piest man  in  the  world." 


THE  INNER  SANCTUARY  433 

"Well,  I'm  glad,"  she  snapped,  twisting  away  from  me, 
"that  it  takes  so  little  to  make  you  happy." 

"So  little,  when  I'm  going  to  have  you  for  my 
wife?" 

"But  you're  not.  You  said  you'd  rather  be  loved  and 
refused " 

"I  would,  if  I  had  to  choose  between  the  two.  That's 
not  the  case  with  me,  for  I  shall  marry  you,  now  I  know 
the  truth,  in  spite  of  fifty,  or  fifty  thousand,  refusals,  or 
any  other  little  obstacles  like  that." 

"Never,  Duffer!  Not  for  all  the  world  would  I  be 
your  wife,  loving  you  as  I  do,  unless  the  organization 
would  forget  or  forgive  Esme  and  me.  And  that 
I  can't  fancy  they'll  ever  do,  till  the  millenium.  I 
shall  be  past  the  marrying  age  then!  Oh,  Duffer,  I 
almost  wish  you  had  fallen  in  love  with  Monny  as  I 
wanted  you  to  do ' 

"Honest  Injun,  you  really  wanted  that  to  hap- 
pen?" 

"Well,  I  tried  to  want  it,  for  your  sake;  and  in 
a  way  for  my  own,  too.  If  I'd  seen  you  caring 
for  Monny,  I  should  have  found  some  medicine  to 
cure  my  heartache.  Oh,  it  would  have  been  a  very 
good  thing  all  around,  except  for  your  friend,  Anthony 
Fenton." 

"And  I  was  half  afraid  he  was  in  love  with  you!  I  can 
tell  you  I've  had  my  trials,  Biddy.  It's  my  turn  to  be 
happy  now,  and  yours,  too.  Just  think,  nearly  every- 
body in  the  world  is  engaged,  but  us  —  or  next  door  to 
being  engaged.  Miss  Gilder  and  Anthony  —  who's  the 
only  man  on  earth  to  keep  her  in  order:  and  Rachel 


434  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Guest  and  Bailey;  and  Enid  Biddell  and  Harry  Snell; 
and  even  your  stepdaughter,  Esrne  O'Brien " 

"Duffer,  she's  married!" 

"What,  to  young  Halloran?  How  did  they  manage 
it?" 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  I've  had  only  a  telegram.  It  came 
to  Assuan  too  late,  and  Sir  Marcus  Lark  brought  it  to 
the  boat.  I  found  it  that  night  when  we  got  back  from 
Philae.  But  I  haven't  told,  because  I  dared  not  be  with 
you  alone  long  enough  to  speak  of  private  affairs,  till  I 
could  decide  whether  to  let  you  know  I  loved  you,  or 
make  believe  I  didn't  care  a  scrap." 

"As  if  I  could  have  believed  your  tongue,  unless  you 
had  shut  your  eyes!  So  Esme  is  married,  and  off  your 
hands?" 

"Not  off  my  hands,  I'm  afraid.  This  may  be  visited 
on  me.  They  must  have  known  of  her  meeting  Tom 
Halloran  at  St.  Martin  Vesubie,  last  summer.  They 
find  out  everything,  sooner  or  later.  Probably  they 
thought  I'd  whisked  her  off  to  Egypt  with  me  (helped 
by  my  rich  friend  Miss  Gilder,  for  whom  they  took  Rachel 
Guest)  in  order  to  let  her  meet  Tom  Halloran  again,  and 
marry  him  secretly.  Well,  she  has  married  him  secretly. 
When  they  discover  wHat's  happened,  they're  sure  to  put 
the  blame  on  poor  me.  And  indeed,  it  is  a  shocking  thing 
for  the  son  of  that  man  in  prison,  and  the  daughter  of 
the  man  who  sent  him  there,  to  be  husband  and  wife." 

"I  don't  see  that  at  all,"  I  argued.  "Why  shouldn't 
their  love  end  the  feud?  " 

"It  can't,  for  strong  as  it  may  be,  it  won't  release 
prisoners,  or  bring  back  to  life  those  who  are  dead." 


THE  INNER  SANCTUARY  435 

"Anyhow,  don't  borrow  trouble,"  said  I.  "If  Esme's 
married  the  more  reason  for  us  to  follow  her  example. 
After  Khartum,  when  Miss  Gilder 

"Who's  taking  my  name  in  vain?"  inquired  the  owner 
of  it,  at  the  sanctuary  door. 

"Oh,  then  you  have  come,  Monny!"  Brigit  exclaimed. 
"I  —  I'd  given  you  up." 

"I  haven't  come  for  the  reason  you  thought,"  returned 
the  girl  promptly.  "  I  was  sure  you  meant  to  head  me  off. 
And  I've  learned  without  asking,  that  Antoun  Effendi 
didn't  write  that  note." 

"I  told  you  so!    Who  did?" 

"He's  trying  to  find  out.  Probably  it  was  a  silly 
practical  joke  some  one  wanted  to  play  on  me.  There  are 
lots  quite  capable  of  it,  on  board!  Antoun  Effendi  said 
the  sunrise  was  much  finer  really,  from  on  top  of  the  great 
sandhill,  so  we  climbed  up.  And  it  came  out  that  he 
hadn't  asked  me  to  meet  him  here.  If  any  one  not  on  the 
boat  wrote  the  letter,  some  steward  must  have  been 
bribed  to  sell  a  bit  of  writing-paper,  and  allow  a  stranger 
to  come  on  board,  while  we  were  away  at  Kasr  Ibrim. 
There  was  a  steam  dahabeah  moored  not  far  off,  if  you 
remember,  with  Oriental  decorations;  so  we  fancied  it 
must  belong  to  an  Egyptian  or  a  Turk." 

"It  could  easily  have  been  hired  at  Assuan,"  Biddy 
exclaimed.  "  And  it  could  have  beaten  us.  WV ve  stopped 
at  such  heaps  of  temples  where  other  boats  only  touch 
coming  back." 

"If  there  were  a  plot,  as  you  are  always  imagining,  the 
dahabeah  would  have  to  be  near  here,  too,"  Monny 
laughed  incredulously. 


436  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"And  so  it  may  be.  We  haven't  seen  round  the  cor- 
ner of  the  Great  Temple  yet." 

"One  would  think  to  hear  you  talk,  that  you'd  expected 
this  poor  little  sanctuary  to  be  stuffed  with  murderers, 
or  at  the  least,  kidnappers." 

"Ugh,  don't  speak  of  it!"  Biddy  shuddered,  "Let's 
go  out  into  the  sunlight  again,  as  quick  as  ever  we  can!" 


XXVIII 
WORTH  PAYING  FOR 

WHEN  Anthony  says  that  he  will  find  out  things  he  seldom 
fails.  Perhaps  nobody  but  a  green-turbaned  Hadji  could 
so  speedily  have  screwed  information  out  of  secretive 
Arabs,  paid  to  be  silent.  And  he  had  to  fit  deductions 
into  spaces  of  the  puzzle  left  empty  by  fibs  and  glib  self- 
excusings.  What  he  did  learn  was  this:  a  dragoman  had 
come,  in  a  small  boat,  from  a  steam  dahabeah  to  the 
Enchantress  Isis  while  we  were  away  at  Kasr  Ibrim. 
He  presented  credentials  written  out  for  him  in  Cairo 
by  Miss  Rachel  Guest,  and  dated  a  few  weeks  ago. 
Inquiring  for  her,  he  seemed  sorry  to  hear  that  she  had 
gone  on  the  excursion.  The  dragoman  refused  to  dis- 
turb Antoun  Effendi,  on  hearing  that  the  Hadji  was 
writing  in  his  cabin.  His  errand  was  not  of  enough 
importance  to  trouble  so  illustrious  a  man.  All  he  wanted 
was  permission  to  type  one  or  two  letters  for  bis 
employers  on  the  neighbouring  dahabeah,  which  pos- 
sessed no  machine.  In  the  absence  of  Mr.  Kruger, 
who  had  gone  on  shore  for  exercise,  the  dragoman 
was  given  this  privilege.  Possibly  he  had  taken  some  of 
the  boat's  letter-paper.  Who  could  be  certain  of  these 
trifles?  Possibly,  also,  he  had  walked  about  with  one  of 
the  cabin  stewards^  to  see  the  luxurious  appointments 

437 


438  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

of  the  Enchantress  I  sis.  As  for  paying  money  for 
these  small  favours,  who  could  tell?  And  nobody  knew 
if  the  steam  dahabeah  had  hurried  on  before  us,  to  anchor 
out  of  sight  round  the  oblique  fagade  of  Abu  Simbel. 
In  any  case,  when  we  went  to  look  for  the  suspicious 
craft  seen  near  Kasr  Ibrim,  she  was  not  among  the  two 
or  three  small  private  dahabeahs  of  artists  and  others, 
moored  within  a  mile  of  the  Great  Temple.  Notwith- 
standing her  absence,  however,  Anthony  and  I  (suddenly 
confidential  friends  again)  thought  it  likely  that  the 
shadows  in  the  Sanctuary  had  not  been  its  only  tenants 
when  we  entered  there.  The  invaluable  Bedr  knew 
enough  of  the  Nile  Temples  to  know  that  the  sun's  first 
light  strikes  only  the  altar  and  the  statues  over  it,  in  Abu 
Simbel's  inner  shrine:  that  the  four  corners  of  the  small 
cavern-room  remain  pitch  black,  unless  the  place  is 
artificially  illuminated:  and  that  this  is  never  done  at 
sunrise.  The  dragoman  and  one  or  both  of  his  employers 
would  have  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  into  the  temple 
before  the  first  streak  of  dawn,  if  they  had  warned  its 
guardian  the  night  before.  So  far,  our  deductions  were 
simple,  after  learning  how  the  trick  of  the  typewritten 
note  had  been  managed:  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  guess 
the  object  of  the  plot.  Was  Monny  Gilder  to  have  been 
murdered  in  the  dark  Sanctuary,  or  was  she  to  have  been 
kidnapped?  Either  seemed  an  impossible  undertaking, 
unless  the  plotters  were  willing  to  face  certain  detection 
and  arrest. 

As  it  was,  we  had  no  more  tangible  proof  against  the 
man  than  we  had  before,  at  the  House  of  the  Crocodile, 
in  the  desert  near  Medinet,  at  Asiut,  and  at  Luxor.  With 


WORTH  PAYING  FOR  439 

a  sly  cleverness  which  did  Bedr,  or  those  employing  him, 
much  credit,  they  had  screened  themselves  behind  others. 
Even  if  we  had  the  names  of  the  "tourists"  Bedr  had 
served  as  dragoman,  and  if  we  could  lay  our  hands  on 
their  shoulders,  we  had  not  enough  evidence  of  what  they 
had  done  to  obtain  a  warrant  of  arrest :  and  this  of  course 
they  knew.  Our  best  chance,  Anthony  thought,  lay  in 
springing  a  surprise  on  them,  as  they  had  vainly  (so  far) 
tried  to  do  with  us;  and  when  wre  got  them  somehow  at  our 
mercy,  force  out  the  truth. 

It  was  almost  certain  that  a  steam  dahabeah  could  not 
unseen  have  passed  the  Enchantress  Isis  at  Abu 
Simbel  in  broad  daylight,  going  back  toward  Assuan. 
Therefore,  since  it  was  not  moored  near  the  temple,  if  it 
had  been  in  the  neighbourhood  at  all  it  must  have  dashed 
on  ahead  of  us  in  the  direction  of  Wady  Haifa.  With 
pleasure  would  we  have  given  immediate  chase,  had  not 
the  Enchantress  been  pledged  to  remain  at  Abu  Simbel 
till  afternoon.  Even  as  it  was,  I  expected  to  catch  up 
with  a  boat  so  much  smaller  than  our  own;  but  Anthony 
damped  my  hopes,  explaining  the  difficulties  of  naviga- 
tion between  Abu  Simbel  and  Wady  Haifa.  There  were, 
he  said,  great  shifting  sandbanks  in  the  water  which  looked 
so  transparently  green,  so  treacherously  clear.  Without 
the  most  prudent  piloting  the  river  was  actually  danger- 
ous, as  new  sandbanks  had  a  habit  of  forming  the  minute 
you  shut  your  eyes  or  turned  your  back.  The  En- 
chantress would  have  to  pick  her  way  slowly  through 
the  silver  sands  of  the  Nile,  which  mingled  with  the  spilt 
gold-dust  of  the  desert  shore.  All  the  same,  these  im- 
pudent rascals  would  find  it  hard  to  hide  from  us  at  Wady 


440  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

Haifa,  especially  if  we  stopped  the  boat  and  wired  from 
the  next  telegraph  station  to  have  them  watched  on  the 
arrival  of  their  dahabeah. 

"Perhaps,  as  they're  so  clever  they'll  be  clever  enough 
not  to  arrive  at  all,"  was  my  suggestion.  And  Anthony 
could  only  shrug  his  shoulders.  "Wait  and  see"  had  to 
be  our  policy. 

Happily  the  Set  wandered  in  and  out  of  the  two  temples, 
big  and  little,  all  the  morning,  ignorant  of  OUT  worries 
which,  even  to  us,  seemed  small  under  the  benign  gaze 
of  the  great  Colossi.  The  three  stone  Rameses  who  had 
faces,  wore  expressions  no  one  could  ever  forget;  and 
there  was  a  sense  of  loss  in  turning  away  from  them. 

A  crocodile  swam  past  the  Enchantress  as  she  steamed 
up  river;  a  long,  dark,  prehistoric  shape.  He  seemed  an 
anachronism,  but  so  did  Bedr,  with  his  plottings;  yet 
both  were  real,  real  as  this  Nile-dream  of  dark  rocks,  of 
conical  black  mountains  shaped  like  ruined  pyramids,  and 
yellow  sandhills  whose  dazzling  reflections  turned  the 
blue-green  river  to  gold. 

The  next  day  at  noon,  we  came  to  Wady  Haifa;  and  the 
Enchantress  Isis  who  had  brought  us  eight  hundred 
miles  from  Cairo,  was  now  to  be  deserted  by  those  with 
Khartum  in  view.  All  save  three  of  the  party  were 
going  on  through  this  gate  of  the  Sudan,  where  the  river- 
way  ended  and  the  desert-way  began.  Neill  Sheridan 
was  turning  back  immediately,  in  a  government  steamer; 
and  a  bride  and  groom  who  cared  not  where  they  were, 
if  with  each  other,  would  wait  on  board  the  Enchantress 
until  the  band  of  passengers  should  return  from  Khartum. 

These  things  had   to  be  thought  of.     But  I   meant 


WORTH  PAYING  FOR  441 

to  let  Kruger  do  most  of  the  thinking,  when  we  landed  at 
the  neat,  colourful  town  of  Haifa,  which  lies  (as  Assuan 
lies)  all  pink  and  blue  and  green  along  the  river  bank, 
sentinelled  with  trees.  From  a  distance  Anthony  and  I 
caught  sight  of  the  steam  dahabeah  seen  near  Kasr  Ibrim, 
and  we  could  hardly  wait  to  get  on  shore.  The  camp 
was  but  a  mile  and  a  half  away,  and  I  had  wired  in  Lark's 
name,  to  an  officer  whom  he  was  sure  to  know,  asking 
as  a  great  favour  to  have  the  passengers  on  board 
a  boat  of  that  description  watched;  and  requesting  him  if 
possible  to  meet  the  Enchantress  on  her  arrival.  "There 
he  is!"  said  Fenton,  standing  at  the  rail.  "7  mustn't 
seem  to  recognise  him,  of  course.  Can't  give  myself  away ! 

But  you "  "Good  Lord,  there's  Bedr!"  I  broke  in, 

hardly  believing  my  eyes.  And  there  Bedr  was,  looking  as 
if  butter  would  by  no  means  melt  in  his  mouth :  Bedr, 
smiling  from  the  pier,  evidently  there  for  the  special 
purpose  of  meeting  us.  His  ugly  squat  figure,  and  the 
tall,  khaki-clad  form  of  the  officer,  were  conspicuous 
among  squatting  blacks,  male  and  female,  in  gay  turbans, 
veils,  and  mantles,  muffled  babies  in  arms,  and  children 
dressed  in  exceedingly  brief  fringes. 

"I'll  attend  to  him,  while  you  powwow  with  Ireton," 
said  Anthony,  ready  for  the  unexpected  situation.  And 
while  the  indispensable  if  humble  Kruger  showed  the  pas- 
sengers how  to  get  to  the  desert  train,  superintended  the 
landing  of  the  luggage,  and  made  himself  perspiringly 
useful,  I  thanked  Major  Ireton  in  Sir  Marcus  Lark's 
and  my  own  name. 

His  news  was  astonishing.  There  were  no  passengers 
on  board  the  steam  dahabeah  Mamoudieh.  She  had 


442  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

arrived  with  none  save  her  crew,  and  the  dragoman  now 
talking  with  that  good-lookingHadji  there.  As  I  murmured 
"Yes,"  and  "No,"  and  "Indeed  —  Really ! "  to  the  officer, 
who  had  kindly  worked  on  our  behalf,  I  was  saying  to  my- 
self, ""My  dear  Duffer,  what  an  ass  you  were  not  to  think  of 
that!"  For  of  course  the  men  had  remained  at  Abu  Sim- 
bel,  hiding  till  we  should  be  out  of  the  way,  and  sending 
their  boat  on  to  put  us  off  the  track.  A  Cook  steamer  and  a 
Hamburg-American  boat  were  due  to  stop  at  the  temple. 
We  had  passed  both  on  the  river.  By  this  time  the 
two  men  were  doubtless  on  their  way  north,  making 
for  Cairo  and  safety. 

Still,  here  was  Bedr,  looking  like  a  fat  fly  who  had  de- 
liberately come  to  pay  a  call  on  the  lean  and  hungry 
spider.  I  was  impatient  for  the  moment  when  the  need 
for  genuine  gratitude  and  "faked"  explanations  was 
over,  and  Major  Ireton  had  gone  about  other  business. 

Then  I  could  follow  the  Hadji  and  the  Armenian,  who 
had  mounted  the  steps  leading  up  from  river-level  to  the 
town.  Not  far  off  I  could  see  the  blue-windowed,  white- 
painted  desert  train,  round  which,  on  the  station  plat- 
form, buzzed  and  scolded  the  Set,  demanding  their 
hand-luggage  and  their  compartments.  But  Anthony  and 
his  victim  (or  was  it  by  chance  vice  versa?)  were  keeping 
out  of  eyeshot  and  earshot  of  the  late  passengers  of  the 
Enchantress.  Brigit  and  Monny,  who  must  have  seen 
Bedr,  were  too  tactful  to  hover  near:  also  they  knew 
"Antoun  Effendi"  too  well  to  think  it  necessary. 

Bedr  gave  me  no  time  to  speak.  He  rushed  forward  to 
greet  me  with  effusion,  as  if  I  were  a  long-lost  and  well- 
loved  patron.  "I  bin  so  glad  see  you  again  after  these 


WORTH  PAYING  FOR  443 

days,  milord.  Sure!"  he  began.  "Antoun  Effendi,  he 
tell  you  I  come  here  on  purpose  to  do  you  good.  I  find 
out  those  genlemens  very  wicked  men,  so  I  leave  them 
quick.  They  want  to  pay  me  for  go  back  with  them, 
but  no  money  big  enough  now  I  know  they  try  to  do 
harm  to  my  nice  young  lady.  She  wasn't  so  good  to  me 
as  the  other  nice  young  lady,  but  that  makes  no  matter. 
I  not  stand  for  any  hurt  to  her,  sure  I  will  not,  milord." 

"The  meaning  of  this  rigmarole,"  Anthony  cut 
him  short,  speaking  in  German  (which  he  knew  I 
understood  and  trusted  Bedr  didn't)  "is,  that  the  fellow 
wants  us  to  buy  information  from  him.  He  pretends  to 
have  broken  with  his  employers  on  our  account  (though 
his  explanation  of  getting  here  to  Haifa  on  their  daha- 
beah  is  ridiculous)  and  that,  having  come  for  our  benefit 
against  their  wishes,  he's  without  pay,  penniless,  and 
stranded." 

"A  lie  of  course,"  I  took  for  granted,  also  in  German. 

"The  part  about  being  broke  —  certainly.  But  it's 
certain,  too,  that  he  must  know  some  things  we'd  like  to 
know." 

"Could  we  trust  a  word  he  says?" 

"No,  as  far  as  his  moral  sense  is  concerned.  But  my 
idea  is  to  bargain  with  him.  We  to  pay  according  to 
value  received.  That  might  be  bait  for  a  fish  worth 
hooking." 

"Yes,  that's  our  line.  We  haven't  much  time  to  hear 
and  digest  his  story,  though.  The  train  will  start  in 
less  than  an  hour." 

"We  shan't  waste  a  minute.  Without  waiting  for  you, 
I  began  to  bargain  on  the  line  I've  just  suggested." 


444  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"How  far  did  you  get? " 

"A  good  way,  for  I  was  able  to  scare  him  a  bit.  You 
see,  he  earns  his  living  in  Cairo,  and  I've  persuaded  him 
that  I  have  some  influence  there,  in  quarters  that  can 
make  or  break  him.  He  hasn't  much  more  time  to  spare 
than  we  have,  if  it's  true  that  he  wants  to  start  back  on 
the  government  boat.  You  know  they  take  natives, 
third  class.  My  suggestion,  subject  to  your  ap- 
proval, is  this:  in  any  case  we  give  a  thousand  piasters, 
ten  pounds.  But  if  what  he  can  tell  us  is  of  real  use  or 
even  interest,  we  rise  to  the  extent  of  ten  times  that 
sum." 

"It's  a  good  deal  for  a  beastly  baboon  like  him." 

"Remember,  he  has  been  doing  services  lately  for  which 
he  probably  got  high  pay." 

"All  right,  whatever  you  say,  goes,"  I  agreed. 

"I  trust  to  your  honours,  my  genlemens,"  remarked 
the  beastly  baboon  in  question,  in  a  manner  so  apropos 
that  I  guessed  him  not  entirely  ignorant  of  German, 
after  all. 

"Thanks  for  the  compliment,"  I  responded  gratefully. 

"We  shall  have  to  talk  here.  There's  no  time  to  find  a 
more  convenient  place,"  said  Fenton,  returning  to  Arabic 
as  a  medium  of  communication.  "Fire  away,  Bedr.  But 
don't  start  your  story  in  the  middle.  Begin  where  you 
took  service  with  these  Irish-American  gentlemen." 

"  ^Yas  the  genlemens  Irish?  I  never  know  that, "  purred 
the  guileless  Bedr;  but  Fenton  brought  him  to  his  bear- 
ings. All  questions  were  to  be  from  us  to  him.  So  Bedr 
"fired  away":  and  there,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the 
train  getting  up  steam  for  Khartum,  we  listened  to  a 


WORTH  PAYING  FOR  445 

strange  tale  —  as  strange,  and  as  great  an  anachronism 
as  that  dark  crocodile-shape  we  had  seen  —  except  in  the 
Nile  country,  where  live  crocodiles  and  many  other  dark 
things  can  easily  happen  any  day. 

Blount's  name,  according  to  Bedr,  was  not  Blount,  but 
something  else,  well-known  in  America.  It  was  a  name 
already  associated  with  that  of  O'Brien,  which  inclined 
us  to  hope  for  some  grains  of  truth  in  the  chaff  of  lies  we 
expected.  Bedr  said  that  in  New  York,  years  ago,  he 
had  known  the  man  "Blount."  He  was  related  to  the 
American  family  who  took  Bedr  from  Cairo.  Later, 
when  the  Armenians  had  returned  to  Egypt,  "Blount" 
had  come  with  him,  for  a  "rest  cure."  He  had  engaged 
Bedr  as  dragoman,  and  on  leaving  had  asked  for  Bedr's 
card.  That  was  years  ago,  and  nothing  had  been  heard 
from  him  since:  but  before  the  Laconia  was  due  to  ar- 
rive, Bedr  had  received  a  telegram  from  Blount  instruct- 
ing him  to  meet  the  ship,  and  wire  to  Paris  whether  Miss 
Gilder  of  New  York  and  a  "Mrs.  Jones"  were  on  board, 
with  a  party.  "Blount"  knew  that  Bedr  had  seen  Miss 
Gilder  as  a  child,  and  might  now  be  able  to  recognize  her. 
On  the  day  in  New  York  when  a  block  in  traffic  had  given 
a  glimpse  of  the  little  girl  in  a  motor-car  with  her  father, 
Bedr  and  "Blount"  had  been  together. 

As  soon  as  possible  after  Bedr's  reply,  "Blount"  and 
another  man,  who  called  himself  Hanna,  had  arrived  in 
Cairo.  Bedr  knew  that  they  had  a  fixed  theory  in  regard 
to  the  young  lady  who  passed  as  Miss  Gilder.  Who  they 
supposed  her  to  be,  he  could  not  tell;  but  once  he  had 
"happened"  to  be  near,  when  they  were  not  aware  of  his 
presence,  and  had  heard  one  of  them  mention  a  woman's 


446  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

name,  which  sounded  like  "Esny."  They  accepted  his 
word  that  he  had  been  able  to  identify  the  so-called  Miss 
Guest  as  Rosamond  Gilder,  and  in  her  they  appeared  to 
take  no  further  interest.  Their  attention  was  concen- 
trated on  Mrs.  Jones  and  on  the  lady  who,  according  to 
their  belief,  was  but  posing  as  Miss  Gilder.  Apparently 
they  imagined  her  to  be  quite  another  person,  one  whom 
they  had  taken  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  reach.  Also 
they  had  an  idea  that  Mrs.  Jones  possessed  something  of 
which  they  were  anxious  to  get  hold.  It  was  a  thing  which 
ought  to  be  theirs,  and  they  had  been  after  it  for  years; 
but  she  had  contrived  to  hide  herself  and  it,  until 
lately. 

Why  he  had  been  told  to  guide  the  two  younger  ladies 
to  the  House  of  the  Crocodile,  Bedr  pretended  not  to 
know.  Perhaps  —  only  perhaps  —  Blount  and  his  com- 
panion, Hanna,  wished  to  kidnap  the  one  we  called  Miss 
Gilder,  and  they  called  "Esney."  But  good,  kind  Bedr 
had  never  dreamed  that  they  meant  any  real  harm. 
There  had  been  a  plan  of  some  sort  for  that  night. 
Blount  and  Hanna  were  to  arrive  at  the  House 
of  the  Crocodile  for  a  close  look  at  the  young 
ladies,  when  the  latter  had  gone  to  sleep  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  hasheesh  they  intended  to  smoke.  But  the 
two  gentlemen  had  not  kept  the  appointment.  At  first, 
Bedr  had  not  understood  why,  and  had  not  known  what  to 
do.  Afterward,  of  course,  when  he  had  heard  of  the  row 
in  the  street,  which  had  caused  the  closing  of  the  house 
for  many  tedious  hours,  he  had  guessed.  And  later  when 
he  learned  that  poor  Mr.  Blount  lay  wounded  in  a  hos- 
pital, it  had  all  become  clear.  Mr.  Hanna,  who  seemed 


WORTH  PAYING  FOR  447 

to  work  under  Mr.  Blount's  orders,  had  not  been  able  to 
act  alone. 

Then,  as  to  all  the  travelling  up  the  Nile,  Bedr  had 
never  been  told  why  "his  genlemen"  made  the  journey. 
Every  one  who  came  to  Egypt  went  up  the  Nile.  Only, 
he  had  been  instructed  to  find  out,  always,  where  we 
were,  and  told  to  arrange  their  arrival  at  about  the  same 
time.  At  Medinet  they  had  not  camped,  or  gone  to  an 
hotel,  but  had  stayed  in  the  house  of  a  friend  of  Bedr's. 
It  was  convenient,  though  not  as  comfortable  as  he  could 
wish  for  his  clients.  The  advantage  was,  that  from  the  roof 
it  was  possible  to  see  into  our  camp.  Bedr  had  made 
friends  with  one  of  the  camel-boys  who  went  to  market 
to  buy  the  black  lamb :  and  while  we  were  away,  had  found 
out  which  was  the  tent  where  Mrs.  Jones  and  Miss  Gilder 
(or  "Esney")  slept.  What  happened  in  the  night  he 
could  not  say.  He  had  stayed  at  his  friend's  house,  while 
the  two  gentlemen  went  out.  He  had  done  nothing  at 
all  for  them  in  Medinet,  except  to  discover  the  ladies' 
tent,  and  also  to  buy  a  bottle  of  olive  oil.  When  the 
gentlemen  came  home  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  they 
were  angry  with  him  because  they  said  he  had  shown  them 
the  wrong  tent.  But  that  was  unjust.  It  was  the  only 
time  they  had  been  unkind.  Except  for  that,  they  had 
been  good,  and  had  given  him  plenty  of  money  for  a  while. 
At  Asiut  and  Luxor  they  had  been  pleased  with  him.  All 
they  wanted  at  Rechid  Bey's  house,  was  to  get  the  thing 
Mrs.  Jones  had,  which  ought  to  be  theirs.  They  had  not 
told  him  this,  but  he  heard  them  talk  sometimes.  He 
knew  more  languages  than  they  thought.  If  they  wanted 
to  steal  the  young  lady,  they  had  never  said  so.  When 


448  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

the  plan  failed,  they  did  not  blame  Bedr.     It  was  not 
his  fault.     They  saw  that. 

The  Mamoudieh  had  been  engaged  as  long  ago  as  just 
after  Medinet,  when  the  thing  the  gentlemen  wanted  to 
do  there  could  not  be  done.  But  Bedr  thought  that,  if 
the  Luxor  plan  had  been  a  success,  the  steam  dahabeah 
would  have  gone  north  from  there  instead  of  south.  It 
was  because  of  that  failure  the  boat  had  followed  us  up 
the  Nile.  At  Abu  Simbel  Bedr  had  quarrelled  with  the 
gentlemen,  because  he  began  to  suspect  they  meant  harm 
to  the  ladies,  or  to  one  of  them.  He  had  been  clever,  and 
got  on  board  the  Enchantress  as  they  told  him  to  do. 
He  had  obtained  writing-paper,  and  typed  a  copy  of  a 
letter.  In  America,  he  had  learned  to  do  typing.  Often 
he  could  make  better  money  in  an  engagement  now,  be- 
cause he  knew  how  to  use  a  machine.  And  when  the 
steward  showed  him  over  the  boat,  he  left  the  letter  in 
the  stateroom  which  the  Arab  boy  said  was  Miss  Gilder's. 
In  spite  of  all  these  good  services,  which  no  other  drago- 
man in  Egypt  could  have  given,  those  gentlemen  would 
not  listen  to  a  word  of  advice.  Bedr  heard  them  speak 
with  the  guardian  of  the  temple,  about  going  in  before 
any  one  else  came  to  see  the  sunrise:  and  afterward  they 
talked  of  hiding  in  the  Sanctuary.  First,  they  had  asked 
him  if  it  were  always  dark  there,  as  the  guide-books  said. 
After  hearing  this  he  had  put  two  and  two  together:  and 
when  he  remembered  what  was  in  the  note  he  typed  for 
Miss  Gilder,  Bedr  feared  for  her  and  Mrs.  Jones.  He 
begged  the  gentlemen  not  to  do  anything  rash,  and  they 
were  so  angry  at  his  interference  that  they  sent  him  off 
with  no  more  pay  —  nothing  at  all  since  Luxor. 


WORTH  PAYING  FOR  449 

Oh,  no,  they  were  not  afraid  of  him,  and  what  he  could 
tell,  because  they  said  nobody  would  believe  a  dragoman's 
word,  against  rich  white  gentlemen.  People  would  say 
he  lied,  for  spite.  But  Bedr  thought  maybe  we  should 
believe,  because  we  knew  already  that  something  strange 
had  been  going  on.  The  gentlemen  paid  off  the  men  on 
the  Mamoudieh  and  ordered  her  to  go  on  to  Wady  Haifa. 
They  did  not  know  that  Bedr  had  slipped  on  board,  and 
hidden  there,  on  purpose  to  find  us,  and  tell  his  story. 

A  part  of  this  tale  carried  truth  on  its  face.  But  An- 
thony and  I  agreed  that  there  was  a  queer  discrepancy  at 
the  end.  If  Bedr  spoke  the  truth,  Blount  and  his  com- 
rade must  have  had  a  reason  for  wishing  to  get  rid  of  the 
fellow,  or  for  not  caring  what  became  of  him,  a  reason 
unconnected  with  a  quarrel.  And  it  was  certain  that,  if 
there  had  been  a  quarrel,  it  was  not  because  of  virtuous 
plain-speaking  from  Bedr.  It  seemed  impossible  that  he 
could  have  got  on  board  their  hired  boat  to  follow  us, 
without  his  employers'  knowledge.  Was  his  appearance 
at  Wady  Haifa,  and  his  apparent  betrayal  of  his  clients, 
all  a  part  of  their  plan? 

We  could  not  decide  this  question  in  our  minds,  or  by 
cross-questioning  Bedr,  while  the  train  waited,  for  only 
time  could  prove.  But  what  we  had  heard  was  inter- 
esting enough  to  be  worth  the  promised  thousand  piasters, 
and  the  fare  north  on  the  government  boat  just  starting. 
To  make  sure  that  Bedr  did  start,  we  called  Kruger,  put 
the  whole  sum  into  his  hands,  asking  him  to  help  the  dra- 
goman by  buying  his  ticket  and  getting  the  notes  changed 
into  gold  and  silver.  This  little  manoeuvre  left  the  Ar- 
menian so  calm,  however,  that  we  fancied  his  wish  must 


450  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

really  be  to  depart  on  the  government  boat.  Such  in- 
quiries as  we  had  time  to  make  concerning  the  Mamoudieh 
seemed  to  show  that  she  must  remain  at  Haifa  for  slight 
repairs  to  her  engine,  and  instructions  from  her  owner, 
who  was  staying  at  Assuan.  It  was  just  at  the  last  minute 
of  grace,  with  the  station-master  adjuring,  and  the  Set 
reproaching  us,  that  Anthony  and  I  jumped  on  board 
the  train. 

Strange  that  two  rows  of  blue  glass  windows  should 
have  power  to  turn  the  whole  world  topsy-turvy,  or  to 
create  a  new  one,  of  an  entirely  original  colour-scheme! 
But  so  it  was.  Those  people  seated  in  their  grand,  travel- 
ling "bed-sitting  rooms,"  had  only  a  superficial  resem- 
blance to  the  passengers  of  the  Enchantress  Isis.  Monny, 
for  instance,  had  pale  green  hair,  with  immense  purple 
eyes;  and  showed  every  sign  of  rapid  transformation  into 
a  mermaid.  Cleopatra's  auburn  waves  had  turned  to  a 
vivid  magenta:  Biddy's  black  tresses  had  a  blue,  grapey 
bloom  on  them:  and  Anthony's  dark  eyes  were  a  sin- 
ister green,  with  red  lights.  Ghostly,  mother  o' pearl  faces 
with  opal  shadows,  peered  through  the  violet  glass  at  an  un- 
real landscape,  which  would  instantly  cease  to  exist  if  the 
windows  were  opened.  But  the  windows  could  not  be 
opened,  or  a  rain  of  sand  would  pour  in;  so  we  gazed  out  on 
an  impossible  fairyland  consisting  of  golden  sea,  with  moun- 
tainous shores  carved  from  amethyst,  through  which  shone 
the  glow  of  pulsing  fires.  Always  we  carried  with  us  an 
immense  shadow,  like  a  trailing  purple  banner,  unfurling 
as  we  moved.  Men  and  women  and  animals  seen  at  the 
numbered  white  stations  in  the  sand,  were  but  fantastic 


WORTH  PAYING  FOR  451 

figures  in  a  camera  obscura.  The  shadow  of  the  train 
was  torn  with  fiery  streaks :  and  when  the  sun  had  burned 
to  death  on  a  red  funeral-pyre,  the  moon  stole  out  to 
mourn  for  him.  Her  coming  was  sudden.  She  seemed 
abruptly  to  draw  aside  a  hyacinth  curtain,  and  hold 
up  a  lamp  over  the  desert,  when  the  sun's  fire  had  died. 
And  the  lamp  gave  forth  an  unearthly  light,  which  poured 
over  the  endless  sands  a  sheet  of  primrose-yellow  flame. 
The  warm  sun-shadow  was  chilled  from  purple  to  gray, 
and  flowed  over  the  magic  primrose  fields  like  a  river  of 
molten  silver. 

At  Number  Six  Station,  where  we  stopped  for  water 
after  dinner,  a  hyena  came  galumping  over  the  sand  like 
a  humpbacked  dog,  to  stare  at  us,  as  we  strolled  in  couples 
away  from  the  train  into  the  desert.  Next  morning, 
every  one  was  up  early  to  see  the  gray  hornets'  nest  huts 
which  were  Sudanese  villages,  and  the  villagers  them- 
selves, who  urged  us  to  buy  straw  rugs,  baskets,  fans, 
oranges,  dried  beans,  live  birds,  and  milk  in  wooden 
bowls,  whenever  the  train  stopped :  respectable  old  ladies, 
dressed  in  short  fringes,  and  small,  full-stomached  boys 
dressed  in  nothing  at  all. 

I  had  not  told  Biddy  about  our  bargain  with  Sir  Marcus : 
Anthony's  and  my  services  in  exchange  for  the  Mountain 
of  the  Golden  Pyramid.  Why  should  she  be  forced  to  share 
our  suspense?  For  she  would  share  it,  if  she  knew,  even 
though  she  didn't  yet  yield  to  me,  in  the  matter  of  a  united 
future.  I  wanted  to  wait  before  telling  her  the  story,  until 
Fenton  and  I  had  made  sure  if  there  were  anything  golden 
about  the  mountain,  except  its  name.  If  we  were  doomed  to 
disappointment  I  could  then  give  the  tale  a  humorous 


452  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

turn,  easier  to  do  in  retrospect  than  anticipation.  Now, 
when  in  blinding  light  of  noon  we  pointed  out,  in  an  im- 
personal manner,  to  all  who  cared  to  see,  the  pyramid- 
field  of  Meroe,  it  seemed  strange  to  think  that  no  heart 
but  Anthony's  and  mine  beat  the  faster.  The  sun  was  so 
hot  that  most  people,  blinking  dazedly,  retired  behind 
their  screens  of  blue  glass  almost  as  soon  as  the  train 
stopped,  close  to  Garstang's  camp.  I  had  informed  the 
Set,  casually,  that  wonderful  things  were  being  found 
here  in  the  rocky  desert:  that  the  few  neat  white  tents 
sheltered  men  who  were  going  to  make  of  Meroe  a  world's 
wonder:  that  not  only  had  the  army  of  stunted  black 
pyramids  visible  from  the  train,  yielded  up  treasures,  but 
three  tiers  of  palaces  were  being  unearthed,  or  rather, 
unsanded.  I  said  nothing,  however,  of  the  more  dis- 
tant dark  shapes,  like  the  pyramids  yet  unlike  them. 
Among  those  low,  conical  mountains  which  perhaps  gave 
inspiration  to  the  pyramid  builders,  was  our  mountain. 
And  I  was  not  sorry  when  the  burning  sun  smote  curiosity 
from  eyes  and  brains,  and  sent  nearly  all  my  flock  back 
to  their  places,  while  the  train  had  still  some  minutes  at 
the  station. 

Cleopatra  had  not  come  out.  She  had  frankly 
lost  interest  in  scenic  history,  and  did  not  want  to  be 
intelligent:  but  as  Anthony  and  I  stepped  off  the  train, 
we  saw  that  Brigit  and  Monny  stood  arm  in  arm  in  the 
doorway. 

"Would  you  like  to  jump  down?"  I  asked,  reluctantly. 
For  the  first  time  I  did  not  wish  Biddy  O'Brien  to  give 
me  her  society.  I  hoped  she  would  say  "No,  thank  you, " 
for  I  wanted  Fenton  to  point  out  our  mountain  (which 


WORTH  PAYING  FOR  453 

he  had  told  me  could  be  seen) :  and  it  would  be  incon- 
venient to  answer  questions. 

"Yes,  we  should  like  it,"  they  both  replied  together: 
so  Anthony  and  I  had  to  look  delighted.  It  really  was  a 
pleasure  to  help  them  down:  but  even  that  we  could 
have  waited  for  till  our  arrival  at  Khartum.  And  the  first 
remark  that  Biddy  made  was  too  intelligent.  "What  are 
those  weird  things  off  there  in  the  distance,  that  look  ex- 
actly like  ruined  pyramids  —  sort  of  mudpie  pyramids?" 

"Mountains,"  said  Fenton. 

"What,  didn't  anybody  make  them?" 

"The  legend  is,  that  Djinns,  or  evil  spirits,  created  them 
to  use  as  tombs  for  themselves." 

"But  they're  almost  precisely  like  the  made  pyra- 
mids, only  a  little  more  tumbledown.  Have  they 
names?" 

"Some  have,  I  believe,"  Anthony  returned,  with  his 
well-put-on  air  of  indifference.  "That  blackest  and  most 
ruined  looking  one  of  all,  for  instance,  between  two  which 
are  taller  —  there,  away  to  the  left,  I  mean  —  that  is  called 
the  'Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid.' ' 

Our  eyes  met  over  the  girls'  veiled  hats.  After  all,  he 
had  found  an  opportunity  of  telling  me  what  I  wanted  to 
know. 

"What  a  fascinating  name!"  said  Monny.  "It  sounds 
as  if  there  were  some  special  story  connected  with  it. 
Is  there?" 

"Ye — es,"  Anthony  was  obliged  to  admit.  "There 
is  a  legend  that  it  was  used  as  a  tomb  by  the  first  Queen 
Candace,  who  lived  about  two  hundred  years  B.  C. 
after  Ptolemy  Philadelphus.  She  used  to  reign  over  what 


454  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

they  called  the  "Island  of  Meroe."  It  was  this  once 
fertile  kingdom,  between  the  Atbara  River  over  there, 
and  the  Blue  Nile.  They  say  she  wished  to  be  buried 
with  all  her  jewels  and  treasure,  and  was  afraid  of  her 
tomb  being  robbed,  so  she  wouldn't  trust  to  a  man-made 
pyramid.  She  ordered  a  secret  place  to  be  hollowed  out 
in  the  heart  of  a  mountain;  and  that's  the  one  they  pre- 
tend it  is." 

"What  a  lovely  legend!  But  I  suppose  there's  nothing 
in  it,  really,  or  clever  people  like  those  who're  digging 
here  now  would  have  found  the  tomb  and  the  treasure 
long  ago,"  said  Monny. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  left  Anthony  to  answer,  wondering 
what  he  would  say.  "Only  a  very  few  have  ever  put 
enough  faith  in  the  story  to  search,  and  they  have  never 
been  able  to  discover  traces  of  an  entrance  into  that 
mountain  or  any  other.  Of  course,  in  trying  to  enter  the 
great  pyramid  of  Ghizeh,  they  looked  a  long  time  before 
they  succeeded.  But  that  was  different.  There  was  never 
any  doubt  of  there  being  something  worth  seeing,  inside, 
whereas  this  black  lump  may  be  solid  rock,  and  nothing 
more.  It's  many  years  since  anybody  has  tried  to  get  at 
the  secret." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  politely  said  (in  French)  an  elderly 
man,  in  a  pith  helmet,  blue  spectacles,  and  khaki  clothes, 
who  stood  near.  "I  couldn't  help  hearing  your  conver- 
sation; and  it  may  interest  you  and  these  ladies  to  learn 
that  at  this  very  moment  work  is  going  on  at  the  so- 
called  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid." 

I  envied  Anthony  the  brown  stain  on  his  face,  for  I 
felt  the  blood  rushing  to  mine. 


WORTH  PAYING  FOR  455 

"  Indeed !"  I  ejaculated  in  English.  "We  are  very  much 
interested.  Work  —  actually  going  on!" 

"Yes,  it  was  begun  about  four  or  five  weeks  ago,  by 
an  agent  of  Sir  Marcus  Lark,  the  well-known  financier, 
who  got  the  concession  which  some  other  party  was  said 
to  be  trying  for.  I  am  here,"  went  on  the  helmeted  man, 
gazing  benevolently  through  his  blue  spectacles  at  the 
two  pretty  women,  "I  am  here  with  my  son,  who  is  one 
of  Garstang's  men.  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid.  Luckily  for  Sir  Mar- 
cus, it  was  adjudged  to  be  off  our  'pitch.'  Still,  we  are 
interested.  They  are  keeping  their  work  very  secret, 
but  —  these  things  are  in  the  air.  The  talk  here  is  that 
they're  on  the  point  of  making,  if  they  haven't  made 
already,  some  very  startling  discovery." 

"All  aboard,  if  you  please!"  shouted  the  Greek  guard. 


XXIX 
EXIT  ANTOUN 

IF  THERE  had  been  no  Brigit  and  no  Monny  in  the  world 
we  should  have  let  that  train  go  on  without  us,  and  — 
hang  the  Set  and  its  feelings!  But  there  was  a  Brigit; 
there  was  a  Monny;  and  they  were  more  to  us  than  all  the 
treasure  Sir  Marcus  was  apparently  stealing  while  we 
slaved. 

What  fools  we  had  been  to  trust  in  such  a  man !  And  I 
had  actually  wasted  pity  on  the  fellow.  Now,  as  we  were 
borne  away  from  Merb'e,  we  saw  our  hopes,  which  had  be- 
gun to  seem  certainties,  dissolving  into  air.  They  were 
like  the  mirage  of  the  desert  which  lured  us  with  siren  en- 
chantment and  mystery  in  this  Never-Never-land  which 
thousands  of  brave  men  had  died  to  win:  shimmering 
blue  lakes,  that  mirrored  green  trees  and  low  purple 
mountains,  and  the  gold  of  sand-dunes,  so  real,  so  near,  it 
seemed  we  might  walk  to  them  in  a  few  moments:  only 
mocking  dreams,  like  our  belief  in  a  famous  financier's 
loyalty;  like  our  hopes  of  fortune.  For  if  Sir  Marcus  Lark 
had  secretly  begun  work  at  the  Mountain  of  the  Golden 
Pyramid,  it  meant  that  he  intended  to  steal  everything 
best  worth  having,  for  himself. 

It  was  maddening  to  realize  that  we  might  be  too  late  to 
thwart  him,  but  we  had  to  risk  this,  or  risk  losing  some- 

4.56 


EXIT  ANTOUN  457 

thing  dearer  than  the  jewels  of  a  Queen  Candace.  An- 
thony was  staking  the  happiness  of  his  future  on  the 
events  of  the  following  night.  Now  that  the  small  cloud 
of  misunderstanding  had  passed  from  the  clear  sky  of  our 
friendship,  we  were  one  again  in  confidence,  as  we  had 
been  before  the  Philae  eavesdropping :  and  I  knew  the  plan 
he  meant  to  carry  out  at  the  Sirdar's  ball.  It  was  rather 
a  melodramatic  plan,  perhaps,  but  somehow  it  fitted  into 
the  circumstances  of  his  queer  courtship,  and  I  could  see 
why  Anthony  preferred  it  to  any  other  more  conventional. 
As  for  me,  I  too  counted  on  Khartum  to  give  me  a  present 
of  happiness.  Bedr's  story,  largely  false  as  it  might  be, 
must  have  a  basis  of  truth.  I'd  ceased  to  argue  with  Biddy. 
"  We'll  leave  the  subject  of  the  future  alone  till  we  get  to 
Khartum,"  I  had  said.  She  thought,  maybe,  that  she  had 
half  convinced  me  of.  her  worldly  wisdom.  But  this  was 
far  from  being  the  case.  I  was  only  waiting  to  see  whether 
my  theory  were  right  or  wrong.  I  couldn't  know  until 
Khartum:  and  nothing  on  earth,  or  hidden  under  earth, 
would  have  induced  me  to  put  off  the  moment  of  finding 
out. 

North  Khartum  was  standing  in  a  mirage  as  we  ap- 
proached. And  Fenton  and  I  were  superstitious  enough 
to  wonder  if  it  were  a  bad  omen,  that  lovely  lake  which 
was  not  there,  reflecting  clearly  each  white  and  ochre- 
coloured  house  of  the  city  in  the  sand.  Only  the  blue 
glitter  of  the  Nile  was  real,  as  the  train  crossed  the  river 
on  a  high  bridge,  and  landed  us  in  the  surprising  garden 
of  beauty  which  is  Khartum  itself.  Wide  streets,  bordered 
with  flowering  trees,  rose-pink  acacias  and  coral  pendants 
of  pepper-berries;  lawns  green  as  velvet;  big,  verandaed 


458  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

houses  of  silver-gray  or  ruddy  stone;  roses  climbing  over 
hedge  and  wall;  scent  of  lilies  and  magnolias  floating  in 
an  air  clear  as  crystal;  droning  sakkeyehs  spraying  pearls 
over  the  warm  bodies  of  slow-moving  oxen;  white  sails 
like  butterflies'  wings  dotting  the  Blue  Nile :  this  was  the 
new  city  created  as  if  by  magic,  in  sixteen  years,  upon  the 
sad  ruins  of  Gordon's  stronghold. 

On  the  wide  veranda  of  the  Grand  Hotel,  where  pretty 
girls  were  giving  tea  to  young  officers  in  khaki,  Fenton 
came  up  to  Brigit  and  Monny,  who  were  questioning  me 
about  letters.  The  look  on  his  face  struck  the  girl  into 
silence. 

"What  is  it? "  she  asked,  almost  sharply. 

"Don't  let  me  interrupt  you,"  he  said.  "I  can  wait  a 
few  minutes." 

"No,"  Monny  insisted.  "Please  speak.  I  know  it's 
something  important." 

"Important  only  to  myself,  perhaps,"  he  answered, 
with  a  smile  that  was  rather  wistful.  "I  have  to  say 
good-bye  now." 

"Good-bye?"  echoed  Monny,  surprised  and  even 
frightened,  more  by  his  look  and  tone  than  the  words 
themselves. 

"My  engagement  with  Sir  Marcus  Lark  ended  when 
our  train  stopped  at  Khartum.  I  have  other  business  to 
attend  to  here.  I've  just  made  my  adieux  with  every- 
body else.  I  saved  you  till  the  last." 

Monny  was  pale.  Even  the  fresh  young  rose  that 
was  her  mouth  had  blanched.  Otherwise  she  controlled 
herself  perfectly.  Was  this  part  of  Anthony's  plan?  I 
wondered.  He  had  told  me  what  he  intended  to  do  at  the 


EXIT  ANTOUN  459 

Palace  ball  to-morrow  night; but  he  had  said  nothing  about 
this  preliminary  scene.  I  understood,  however,  why  he 
had  not  manoeuvred  to  get  Monny  to  himself,  in  a  de- 
serted corner  of  this  big  ground-floor  balcony  of  the  hotel. 
Even  when  with  the  Set  it  was  a  question  of  getting  their 
tea,  or  looking  at  their  rooms,  eyes  were  always  ready  to 
observe  Miss  Gilder,  especially  since  it  was  "in  the  air" 
that  she  really  was  Miss  Gilder  —  "the  Miss  Gilder." 
He  did  not  want  Miss  Hassett-Bean  and  Mrs.  Harlow 
to  be  saying:  "Look,  my  dear,  at  the  tragic,  private 
farewell  Antoun  Effendi  and  our  American  Beauty  are 
having!"  Since  Philae,  there  would  have  been  no  use  in 
trying  to  conceal  his  feelings  for  Monny  from  Brigit  or  me. 
Therefore  we  made  useful  chaperons,  and  could  be  re- 
garded as  dummies. 

"You  never  told  me  you  were  leaving  us  at  Khartum," 

the  girl  stammered.  "I  thought "  But,  though  we 

knew  what  she  thought,  she  could  go  no  further  before  an 
audience. 

"My  business  prevents  me  from  staying  at  the  hotel," 
Anthony  explained.  "And  —  though  I  shall  see  you, 
never  again  will  you  see  poor  Ahmed  Antoun." 

"I  don't  understand,"  Monny  said. 

"I  know.  But  that  was  what  we  agreed  upon.  You 
promised  to  trust  me  without  understanding.  To- 
morrow night,  at  the  Sirdar's  ball,  you  will  understand. 
I've  arranged  with  Lord  Ernest  that  you  and  Mrs.  Jones 
and  Mrs.  East  and  he  shall  write  your  names  in  the  book 
at  the  Palace.  Then  you  will  all  receive  invitations  for  the 
ball;  you  four  only,  of  the  party." 

"And  you  will  be  there?" 


460  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"I've  just  told  you,"  Anthony  repeated,  "that  Antoun 
is  saying  good-bye  to  you  forever." 

"Yet  you  told  me,  too,  that  after  Khartum  I  should  be 
hap  —  She  cut  herself  short,  and  shut  her  lips  closely. 

I  was  angry  with  Fenton  for  what  seemed  cruelty  to 
one  who  had  very  nobly  confessed  her  love  for  him. 
Biddy's  eyes  protested,  too;  but  the  man  and  the  girl  cared 
no  more  for  us  or  our  criticism,  at  that  moment,  than  if 
we  had  been  harmless,  necessary  chairs  for  them  to  sit 
upon. 

"There  are  many  paths  to  happiness,"  Fenton  an- 
swered. "I  shall  see  you  to-morrow  night,  and  I  shall 
know  whether  you  are  happy.  Meanwhile  I  say  again  — 
trust  me.  And  good-bye." 

He  held  out  his  strong,  nervous  hand,  so  browned  by 
the  sun  that  it  needed  little  staining  for  the  part  he  had 
played  —  and  was  to  play  no  more.  As  if  mechanically, 
Monny  Gilder  laid  her  hand  in  it.  They  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes,  which  were  almost  on  a  level,  so  tall  was  she. 
Then  Antoun  Effendi  turned  abruptly  away,  forgetting 
apparently  that  he  had  not  taken  leave  of  Brigit  or  me. 

"Let's  go  upstairs  at  once,  dear,  and  see  our  rooms," 
Biddy  said  quickly. 

An  instant  later,  I  stood  alone  on  the  veranda.  But  I 
knew  well  enough  where  to  find  Captain  Anthony  Fenton 
when  I  wanted  him,  although  the  death  knell  of  Antoun 
was  sounding.  I  was  not  in  the  least  melancholy,  and 
despite  the  tense  emotion  of  that  short  scene,  I  had  never 
felt  less  sentimental  in  my  life.  My  whole  being  concen- 
trated itself  in  a  desire  to  visit  the  post-office,  and  to  bash 
Sir  Marcus  Lark's  head. 


EXIT  ANTOUN  461 

When  Anthony  came  up  for  his  farewell  I  had  been  ask- 
ing Brigit  and  Monny  if  they  expected  letters  at  the 
Poste  Restante.  Both  said  no,  but  advised  by  me,  they 
gave  me  their  cards,  armed  with  which  I  could  ask  for 
letters  and  obtain  them  if  there  were  any.  "It's  very  un- 
likely any  one  will  address  me  there,"  Biddy  had  assured 
me.  "The  only  letter  I'm  hoping  for  will  come  to  the 
hotel." 

I  was  not  jealous :  because  I  was  sure  the  said  letter  was 
from  Esme  O'Brien,  now  for  weal  or  woe  Mrs.  Halloran. 
The  letter  I  hoped  for  would  be  from  a  very  different  per- 
son, though  if  it  materialized  it  would  certainly  mention 
the  runaway  bride.  And  if  such  a  letter  came  to  Khartum, 
the  place  to  look  for  it,  I  thought,  would  be  the  Poste 
Restante.  The  writer  not  being  a  personal  friend  of  Mrs. 
O'Brien,  and  presumably  not  knowing  Khartum,  could  not 
be  certain  at  which  hotel  she  would  stop. 

I  was  hurrying  away,  a  few  minutes  later,  to  prove  once 
and  for  all  whether  I  were  a  budding  Sherlock  Holmes  or 
merely  an  imaginative  fool,  when  a  servant  came  out  from 
the  hotel  and  handed  me  a  telegram. 

"Lark!  "  I  read  the  signature  at  the  end  with  a  snort  of 

rage.  "  I  wonder  he  has  the  cheek  to "  But  by  that 

time  I  was  getting  at  the  meat  of  the  message.  "What 
the  dev  —  by  Jove!  Here's  a  complication!"  I  heard 
myself  mutter  a  running  accompaniment  to  Marcus 
Lark's  words  — 

This  is  what  he  had  to  say  on  two  sheets  of  paper: 

LORD  ERNEST  BORROW,  Grand  Hotel,  Khartum: 

In  train  leaving  Assuan  met  man  from  Meroe  told  me  work  begun  at 
our  place  strange  news  don't  understand  but  sure  you  two  haven't  gone 


462  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

ahead  of  bargain  must  be  foul  play  or  else  mistake  but  thought  matter 
too  serious  go  on  north  left  train  returned  Assuan  caught  government 
steamer  for  Haifa  just  arrived  too  late  for  train  de  luxe  but  will  proceed 
by  ordinary  train  to  camp  better  meet  me  there  soon  as  possible  leaving 
boat  people  take  care  of  themselves.  Wire  Kabushia  Lark. 

His  loyalty  to  us  shamed  me.  We  had  not  given  him 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  but  had  at  once  believed  the 
worst.  He,  though  "not  a  gentleman"  in  the  opinion  of 
Colonel  Corkran  and  some  others,  was  chivalrously  sure 
that  we  had  "not  gone  ahead  of  the  bargain ! "  A  revulsion 
of  feeling  gave  me  a  spasm  of  something  like  affection  for 
the  big  fellow  whom  his  adored  Cleopatra  sneered  at  as 
"common." 

I  longed  to  show  the  telegram  to  Anthony;  but  he  would 
now  be  at  the  Palace,  reporting  to  the  Sirdar.  Later  he 
would  be  at  his  own  quarters,  transforming  himself  from  a 
pale  brown  Hadji  in  a  green  turban  into  a  sunburned 
young  British  officer  in  uniform.  Meantime  I  would  go  to 
the  Poste  Restante,  and  then  (whatever  the  result  of  the 
visit)  I  would  return,  collect  Brigit  and  Monny,  and  take 
them  to  the  Palace  to  write  their  names  in  the  book. 

I  dare  not  think  what  my  blood  pressure  must  have 
been  as  I  waited  for  a  post-office  official  to  look  through  a 
bundle  of  letters. 

"Mrs.  B.  Jones,"  he  murmured.  "No,  nothing  for  B. 
Jones  —  unless  it's  O'Brien  Jones.  Here's  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  Mrs.  O'Brien  Jones." 

"That's  it,"  said  I,  swallowing  heavily,  "Mrs.  O'Brien 
Jones.  I  think  the  letter  must  be  postmarked  Assuan." 

Without  further  hesitation  the  post-office  man  handed  me 
the  envelope,  on  the  strength  of  Mrs.  B.  Jones'  visiting  card. 


EXIT  ANTOUN  463 

Going  out  of  the  office,  I  walked  on  air.  "Sherlock 
Holmes  it  is ! "  I  congratulated  myself.  And  I  ventured  to 
be  wildly  happy,  because  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  letter 
sent  to  Mrs.  O'Brien  Jones,  from  Assuan,  could  mean  only 
one  thing;  a  justification  of  my  theory. 

I  went  straight  to  Biddy's  door  and  knocked.  There 
was  no  answer,  and  I  stood  fuming  with  impatience  on  the 
upstairs  balcony,  upon  which  each  bedroom  opens.  It 
seemed  impossible  to  live  another  minute  without  putting 
that  letter  into  Biddy's  hand.  And  not  for  the  world 
would  I  have  let  it  come  to  her  from  any  one  else.  I 
was  tempted  to  tear  open  the  envelope,  but  before  I  had 
time  to  test  my  character,  Biddy  appeared  on  the  balcony, 
coming  round  the  corner  from  Monny's  room. 

"  Why,  Duffer !  You  look  as  if  the  sky  had  fallen ! "  she 
exclaimed. 

"It  has,"  I  returned.  "It's  lying  all  over  the  place. 
There's  a  bit  of  it  in  this  letter.  A  bit  of  heaven,  maybe.'* 

"A  letter  for  me?" 

"Yes.  And  if  you  aren't  quick  about  opening  it  I'll 
commit  hari  kari." 

She  was  quick  about  opening  it. 

As  she  read,  almost  literally  my  eyes  were  glued  to  her 
face.  It  went  white,  then  pink.  "Thank  heaven!"  I 
said  within  myself.  If  she  had  been  pink  first  and  white 
afterward,  I  should  have  been  alarmed.  For  a  woman's 
colour  to  blossom  warmly  from  a  snowfield,  means  good 
news. 

"Duffer!"  she  breathed.  "Do  you  —  know  —  what's 
in  this?" 

"I  —  thought  it  would  come."    My  voice    sounded 


464  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

rather  queer.  I'd  fancied  I  had  more  self-control.  "That's 
why  I  —  wanted  your  card  —  for  the  Poste  Restante." 

"Read  this,"  she  said,  and  gave  me  the  open  letter. 

It  was  written  on  paper  of  a  hotel  at  Assuan,  near  the 
railway  station,  and  was  as  follows: 

MADAM:  Let  me  explain  frankly  before  I  go  further,  that  my  name  is 
Thomas  Macmahan.  You  may  remember  it.  If  you  do,  you  will  not 
think  it  strange  that  I  —  as  a  private  person,  as  well  as  a  member  of  a 
Society  —  whose  name  it  is  not  necessary  to  mention  —  wanted  certain 
papers  you  were  supposed  to  possess.  For  a  long  time  I,  and  others  al- 
most equally  interested,  tried  to  trace  you,  after  learning  that  you  had 
the  documents,  or  in  any  case  knew  where  they  were.  Naturally  we 
were  prepared  to  go  far  in  order  to  make  you  give  them  up.  We  believed 
that  your  step-daughter  was  with  you.  As  the  need  was  pressing,  and 
we  had  failed  more  than  once,  we  would,  if  necessary,  have  worked  upon 
your  feelings  through  her.  Had  we  questioned  you,  and  you  had  replied 
that  we  were  mistaken  concerning  the  young  lady  and  the  papers,  we 
should  have  been  incredulous.  But  accident  enabled  us  to  hear  from 
your  own  lips,  details  which  we  could  not  disbelieve.  As  a  woman  we 
wish  you  no  harm,  therefore  we  rejoice  in  this  turn  of  events,  for  your 
sake.  Your  step-daughter  must  now  be  one  of  us,  through  her  husband. 
She  has  nothing  further  to  fear,  much  as  we  regret  her  marriage  into  a 
family  so  deeply  injured  by  her  father.  As  for  you,  Madam,  you  may 
be  at  rest  where  we  are  concerned.  You  said  to  Lord  Ernest  Borrow  in 
the  Temple  of  Abu  Simbel,  that  you  could  never  be  happy,  until  the 
Organization  Richard  O'Brien  betrayed,  "forgot  and  forgave  his  daugh- 
ter and  yourself."  Through  me,  the  Organisation  now  formally  both  for- 
gets and  forgives, 

Wishing  you  well  in  future,  Yours  truly, 

T.  MACMAHAN   (alias  Blount). 

P.  S.  Kindly  acknowledge  receipt  of  this  letter  in  care  of  Bedr  el 
Gemaly  whose  address  you  have  at  Cairo.  Not  hearing  from  you,  we 
shall  try  to  communicate  this  news  in  some  other  way.  The  present 
method  has  occurred  to  us,  as  you  may  find  it  useful  to  know  the  state  of 
affairs  without  delay. 

"Oh,  Biddy,  do  you  find  it  useful?  "  I  asked. 


EXIT  ANTOUN  465 

She  held  out  her  hands  to  me.  There  was  no  one  on  the 
veranda  just  then  and  I  kissed  her. 

"Mine!"  I  said.  "What  a  gorgeous  place  Khartum 
would  be,  to  be  married  in!" 

Mo.nny  was  very  brave  next  day.  She  went  to  Omdur- 
man  with  the  rest  of  us.  And  it  was  the  chance  of  a  life- 
time, because  (through  Anthony)  Slatin  Pasha  himself 
took  us  to  the  place  of  his  captivity :  Slatin  Pasha,  slim, 
soldierly,  young,  vital  and  brilliant.  It  was  scarcely  pos- 
sible to  believe  that  this  man,  who  looked  no  more  than 
thirty-five,  and  radiated  energy,  could  have  passed  eleven 
years  in  slavery  terrible  beyond  description.  He  spoke  of 
those  experiences  almost  lightly,  as  if  telling  the  story  of 
some  one  else,  and  it  was  "all  in  the  day's  work"  that  he 
should  have  triumphed  over  his  persecutors  in  a  way  more 
complete,  more  dramatic  than  any  author  of  romance 
would  dare  invent  for  his  hero. 

He  took  us,  from  the  river-steps  in  front  of  his  own  big, 
verandaed  house,  down  the  Blue  Nile  in  a  fast  steam 
launch.  It  was  a  Nile  as  blue  as  turquoise;  and  after  the 
low  island  of  Tuli  had  been  left  behind  it  was  strange  to 
see  the  junction  of  the  Blue  and  the  White  Niles,  in  a  quar- 
relsome swirl  of  sharply  divided  colours.  Landing  on 
the  shore  at  Omdurman,  we  met  carts  loaded  with 
elephant-tusks,  and  wagons  piled  with  hides.  Giant 
men,  like  ebony  statues,  walked  beside  pacing  camels 
white  as  milk.  The  vegetable  market  was  a  town  of  little 
booths :  the  grain  markets  had  gathered  riches  of  green  and 
orange-gold.  Farther  on,  in  the  brown  shadows  of  the 
roughly  roofed  labyrinth  of  bazaars,  were  stores  of  sandal- 


466  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

wood,  and  spices  smelling  like  Araby  the  blest;  open- 
fronted  shops  showing  splendid  leopard  skins,  crocodile 
heads  bristling  with  knives,  carved  tusks  of  elephants, 
shields,  armour  said  to  have  been  captured  from  crusaders; 
Abyssinian  spears,  swords  and  strange  headgear  used  by 
the  Mahdi's  and  Khalifa's  men.  The  bazaars  of  Cairo  and 
even  Assuan  seemed  tame  and  sophisticated  compared  to 
this  wild  market  of  the  Sudan,  where  half  the  men,  and  all 
the  bread-selling  women  who  were  old  enough,  had  been 
the  Khalifa's  slaves. 

With  Slatin  Pasha  we  went  to  the  Khalifa's  "palace" 
to  gaze  at  the  "saint's"  carriage,  the  skeleton  of  Gor- 
don's piano,  and  scores  of  ancient  guns  which  had  cut 
short  the  lives  of  Christian  men.  Slatin's  house  we  saw, 
too,  and  the  gate  whence  he  had  escaped:  the  Mahdi's 
shattered  tomb,  and  the  famous  open-air  Mosque. 

Then  we  had  a  run  up  the  Blue  Nile,  as  far  as  "  Gordon's 
Tree,"  and  lunched  on  board  the  launch.  In  the  after- 
noon, back  at  Khartum  again,  there  was  still  time  to 
group  round  the  statue  of  Gordon  on  his  camel,  holding 
the  short  stick  that  was  his  only  weapon,  and  gazing  over 
the  desert.  The  Set  were  allowed  to  walk  through  the 
Palace  gardens,  to  behold  the  spot  at  the  head  of  the 
grand  staircase,  where  Gordon  fell,  and  to  have  a  glimpse, 
in  the  Sirdar's  library,  of  the  Khalifa's  photograph, 
taken  after  death.  This  was  a  special  favour,  and  as 
they  knew  nothing  about  the  four  invitations  to  the  ball, 
they  were  satisfied  with  their  day. 

Dinner  was  in  the  illuminated  garden  of  the  hotel: 
and  when  it  was  over,  I  smuggled  Brigit  and  Monny 
and  Cleopatra  inconspicuously  away.  No  one  suspected; 


EXIT  ANTOUN  467 

and  if  the  lovely  dresses  worn  by  Mrs.  East  and  Miss 
Gilder  were  commented  upon,  doubtless  aunt  and  niece 
were  merely  supposed  to  be  "showing  off." 

Never,  I  think,  had  Monny  come  so  near  to  being  a  great 
beauty.  In  her  dress  of  softly  folding  silver  cloth  she 
was  a  tall  white  lily.  She  wore  no  jewels  except  a 
string  of  pearls,  and  there  was  no  colour  about  her  any- 
where, except  the  deep  violet  her  hazel  eyes  took  on  at 
night,  and  the  brown-gold  of  her  hair.  Even  her  lips  were 
pale  as  they  had  been  when  Antoun  bade  her  good-bye. 
Hers  was  no  gay,  dancing  mood.  She  was  going  to  the 
ball  because  Antoun  Effendi  had  ordered,  rather  than 
asked,  her  to  go.  But  she  was  like  some  fair,  tragic 
creature  on  trial  for  her  life,  waiting  to  hear  what  the  ver- 
dict of  the  jury  might  be. 


XXX 

THE  SIRDAR'S  BALL 

BIDDY,  radiating  joy,  walked  beside  me  with  wide-open, 
eager  eyes,  taking  in  every  detail  of  the  historic  house. 
She  admired  the  immense  hall,  whose  archways  opened 
into  dim,  fragrant  gardens.  She  was  entranced  with  the 
Sudanese  band,  ink-black  giants  uniformed  in  white, 
playing  wild  native  music  in  the  moonlight.  She  wanted 
to  stop  and  make  friends  with  the  Shoebill,  a  super-stork, 
apparently  carved  in  shining  metal,  with  a  bill  like  an 
enormous  slipper,  eyes  like  the  hundredth-part-of-a-second 
stop  in  a  Kodak,  and  feet  that  tested  each  new  tuft  of 
grass  on  the  lawn,  as  if  it  were  a  specimen  of  some  hitherto 
undiscovered  thing. 

No  question  but  she  was  happy!  I  was  proud  of  her. 
and  proud  of  myself  because  my  love  had  power  to  give 
her  happiness.  What  matter  now  if  I  were  being  robbed 
at  the  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid,  by  some  un- 
known thief?  Neither  he  nor  any  one  could  steal  Biddy. 

Even  Cleopatra  seemed  pleased  to  be  coming  to  the 
Sirdar's  ball,  though  gloom  lay  heavy  upon  her.  She 
wanted  to  look  her  best.  She  wanted  to  be  admired  by 
the  officers  she  was  to  meet,  and  to  have  as  many  partners 
as  she  could  split  dances  for.  To  be  admired  by  some  one 
was  essential  to  her  just  now,  a  soothing  medicine  to  heal 

468 


THE  SIRDAR'S  BALL  469 

the  smart  of  hurt  vanity.  Monny,  I  felt,  had  made  her- 
self look  beautiful  only  because  she  thought  that  Antoun, 
unseen,  would  see  her.  As  we  entered  the  ballroom,  her 
eyes  were  wistful,  searching,  yet  not  expecting  to  find. 
He  had  said  that  she  would  never  see  Antoun  again. 

I  found  friends  in  the  ballroom :  men  I  knew  at  home, 
and  a  few  pretty  women  I  had  met  in  England  or  abroad : 
but  there  was  no  more  than  time  to  be  received  by  the 
Aide-de-Camp,  and  to  introduce  a  few  officers  to  my  three 
ladies,  when  the  moment  came  for  the  formal  entry  of  our 
host  and  hostess,  the  soldier-Sirdar  and  his  graceful  wife, 
the  Royalties  of  the  Sudan.  We  were  presented:  and  I 
guessed  at  once  that  the  Sirdar  had  been  prepared  in  ad- 
vance to  take  a  special  interest  in  Rosamond  Gilder. 

"Anthony  has  told  him  the  whole  thing,  and  asked  his 
help,"  was  my  thought.  From  the  instant  of  his  kindly 
greeting  for  the  girl,  I  found  myself  suddenly,  excitedly 
assuming  the  attitude  of  a  spectator  in  a  theatre,  on  the 
night  of  a  new  play.  I  knew  the  plot  of  the  play,  but 
not  how  it  would  be  presented,  nor  how  it  would  work 
out. 

I  saw  that  the  Sirdar  ;had  made  up  his  mind  to  a  certain 
line  of  action  where  Monny  was  concerned.  And  by  and 
by,  when  he  had  time  to  spare  from  his  general  duties  as 
host,  I  heard  him  ask  if  she  would  like  to  go  on  the  roof, 
where  Gordon  used  to  stand  watching  for  the  English 
soldiers  to  come. 

"I  will  take  you,"  he  said.  "And  if  you  like  to  stay 
longer  than  I  can  stop  away  from  our  guests,  I'll  give  you 
another  guide." 

He  turned  to  Biddy  and  me.     (Cleopatra  was  dancing 


470  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

with  Baron  Rudolph  von  Slatin  Pasha,  gorgeous  in  medals 
and  stars:  Brigit  and  I  had  just  stopped.) 

"Would  you  like  to  come,  too?"  the  Sirdar  asked. 

I  answered  for  Biddy,  knowing  what  she  would  want  me 
to  say.  And  still  the  sense  of  being  a  spectator  in  a  won- 
derful theatre  was  dreamily  upon  me.  Stronger  and 
stronger  the  impression  grew,  as  the  Sirdar  led  us  out  onto 
a  wide  loggia  white  with  moonlight,  and  up  a  flight  of 
stairs  to  a  flat  roof.  Overhead  a  sky  of  milk  was  spangled 
with  flashing  stars.  Beneath  our  eyes  lay  the  palace 
gardens,  where  the  torches  of  the  Sudanese  band  glowed 
like  transfixed  fireflies,  in  the  pale  moon-rays.  Palms  and 
acacias  and  jewelled  flower-beds,  were  cut  out  sharply  in 
vivid  colour  by  the  lights  which  streamed  from  open 
windows.  Beyond  —  past  the  zone  of  violet  shadow  so 
like  a  stage  background  —  was  the  sheen  of  the  river, 
bright  as  spilt  mercury  under  the  moon.  And  beyond 
again,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Nile,  the  tawny  flame  of  that 
desert  across  which  came  the  Khalifa's  fierce  army. 

"This  is  where  Gordon  used  to  stand,"  the  Sirdar 
stopped  us  near  the  parapet.  "Only  the  roof  was  one 
story  lower  then.  He  climbed  up  here  every  day,  till  the 
last,  to  look  out  across  the  desert,  saying:  'The  English 
will  come ! '  There's  a  black  gardener  I  have,  who  thinks 
he  meets  him  now,  on  moonlight  nights  like  this,  walking 
in  the  garden.  It  wasn't  much  of  a  garden  in  his  day; 
only  palms  and  orange  trees:  but  a  rose-bush  he  planted 
and  loved  is  alive  still.  I've  just  asked  one  of  my  officers — 
one  whom  I  particularly  want  you  to  meet,  Miss  Gilder  — 
to  pluck  a  rose  from  Gordon's  bush  and  bring  it  to  you 
here.  He  knows  where  to  find  us;  and  when  he  comes,  I 


THE  SIRDAR'S  BALL  471 

must  go  back  to  the  ballroom  and  leave  you  —  all  three 
—  to  his  guidance.  Lord  Ernest  and  he  used  to  be  friends 
as  boys,  I  believe.  Perhaps  you've  heard  him  speak  of 
Captain  Anthony  Fenton?" 

"Perhaps.  I  don't  remember,"  Monny  answered, 
apologetically.  She,  so  self-confident  and  self-possessed, 
was  charmingly  shy  with  this  great  soldier  who  had  made 
history  in  the  Sudan. 

"If  you  don't  remember,  Lord  Ernest  can't  have  done 
justice  to  the  subject.  Fenton's  one  of  the  finest  young 
officers  in  Egypt,  or  indeed,  in  the  service.  We're  rather 
proud  of  him.  Lately  he's  been  employed  on  a  special 
mission,  which  he  has  carried  out  extremely  well.  Few 
others  could  have  done  it,  for  a  man  of  great  audacity 
and  self-restraint  was  needed:  a  combination  hard  to 
find.  He  has  been  in  the  Balkans.  And  since,  has  had  a 
particularly  delicate  task  intrusted  to  him,  to  be  con- 
ducted with  absolute  secrecy.  No  'kudos'  to  be  got  out 
of  it  in  case  of  success.  And  failure  would  almost  cer- 
tainly have  cost  his  life.  It  was  a  question  of  disguise, 
and  getting  at  the  native  heart." 

"It  sounds  like  something  in  a  story  book,"  said  Monny, 
while  Brigit  and  I  kept  mum,  drinking  in  gulps  of  moon- 
light. 

"Yes,"  the  Sirdar  agreed,  "or  the  autobiography  of  Sir 
Richard  Burton.  Fenton  has  the  same  extraordinary  gift 
of  language  and  dialect  that  Burton  had :  the  art  of  'make- 
up,' too;  and  he's  been  to  Mecca;  a  great  adventure  I  be- 
lieve he  had.  Perhaps  you  can  get  him  to  talk  of  it :  though 
he's  not  fond  of  talking  about  himself.  Altogether  he's 
what  I  sometimes  hear  the  ladies  call  'a  romantic  figure.' 


472  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

His  father  was  a  famous  soldier.  If  you  were  English  you 
would  have  heard  of  him.  He  broke  off  a  brilliant  career 
in  Egypt  by  running  away  with  a  beautiful  princess.  She 
was  practically  all  Greek  and  Italian,  though  her  father 
called  himself  a  Turk:  no  Egyptian  blood  whatever.  But 
there  was  a  great  row,  of  course,  and  Charles  Fenton  left 
the  Army.  Now  Anthony  Fenton 's  grandfather,  who 
lives  in  Constantinople,  would  like  to  adopt  his  grandson : 
but  the  young  man  is  in  every  sense  of  the  word  an  English- 
man, devoted  to  his  career,  and  doesn't  want  a  fortune  or  a 
Turkish  title." 

"Why,  that  sounds "     Monny  faltered. 

"Like  a  man  of  character,  and  a  born  soldier,  doesn't 
it?  Here  he  comes  now." 

There  was  a  sound  of  quick,  light  footsteps  on  the 
stairs.  In  silence  we  turned  to  see  a  tall  young  officer  in 
uniform  walk  out  upon  the  flat  roof.  The  moon  shone 
straight  into  a  face  grave,  yet  eager,  so  deeply  sun- 
burned as  to  be  brown  even  in  that  pale  light:  long  eye- 
brows sketched  sharply  as  if  in  ink  —  the  black  lines  run- 
ning down  toward  the  temples;  large,  sad  eyes;  a  slight 
upward  hitch  of  the  mouth  on  one  side;  clear  cut  Roman 
nose;  aggressive  chin. 

"Miss  Gilder,  let  me  introduce  Captain  Anthony  Fen- 
ton," the  Sirdar  said. 

"I've  brought  you  a  rose,"  said  Anthony. 

They  stood  looking  at  one  another  for  a  long  moment, 
the  sun-browned  British  officer,  and  the  pale  girl.  We, 
Biddy  and  I,  stared  at  them  both  from  our  distance;  and 
when  the  spell  of  the  instant  had  broken,  we  saw  that  the 
Sirdar  had  gone. 


THE  SIRDAR'S  BALL  473 

We,  too,  would  have  gone,  though  the  man  and  the 
girl  were  between  us  and  the  stairway,  and  we  should  have 
had  to  push  past  them.  But  Anthony,  seeing  our  hesita- 
tion, spoke  quietly.  "Don't  go,"  he  said.  "I  may  want 
you." 

Never  until  to-night  had  Monny  Gilder  heard  him  speak 
English. 

"You  see,"  he  said  to  her,  "why  I  told  you  yesterday 
you  would  never  see  Antoun  again.  I  had  to  tell  you  that, 
to  make  sure  you  would  trust  me  —  fully,  through  every- 
thing. You  have  trusted  me,  and  so  you've  made  it  pos- 
sible for  me  to  keep  my  vow  —  a  wrong  and  stupid  vow, 
but  it  had  to  be  kept.  When  I  was  angry  because  you 
treated  me  like  a  servant,  I  swore  that  never,  no  matter 
how  I  might  be  tempted,  would  I  tell  you  with  my  own  lips 
who  I  was  —  or  let  Borrow  tell.  I  was  going  to  make 
myself  of  importance  in  your  life  as  Ahmed  Antoun,  if  I 
could,  not  as  Anthony  Fenton.  But  long  before  that 
night  at  Philae  I  was  ashamed.  I  —  but  you  said  then, 
you  would  forgive  me.  Now,  when  you  understand  what 
you  didn't  understand  then,  can  you  still  say  the  same?" 

"I  —  hardly  know  what  to  say,"  she  answered.  "I 
don't  know  how  I  feel  —  about  anything." 

"Well,  I  know,  you  goose!"  exclaimed  Biddy,  rushing  to 
the  rescue,  where  angels  who  haven't  learned  to  think  with 
their  hearts  might  have  feared  to  tread.  "You  feel  so 
happy  you're  afraid  you're  going  to  howl.  Why,  it's  all 
perfectly  wonderful!  And  only  the  silliest,  earliest  Vic- 
torian girls  would  sulk  because  they'd  been  'deceived.'  If 
anybody  deceived  you,  you  deceived  yourself.  I  knew 
who  he  was  from  the  first !  So  did  your  Aunt  Clara.  We'd 


474  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

kept  our  ears  open,  and  heard  the  Duffer  talk  about  his 
friend  Anthony  Fenton  who  was  coming  to  meet  us.  You 
were  mooning  I  suppose,  and  didn't  listen.  We  didn't 
give  him  away  partly  because  it  wasn't  our  business,  and 
partly  because  each  of  us  was  up  to  another  game,  never 
mind  what.  Captain  Fenton  never  tried  to  play  you  a 
trick.  You  threw  yourself  at  his  head,  you  know  you  did, 
from  Shepheard's  terrace.  He  had  his  mission  to  think  of, 
and  you'd  be  very  conceited  if  you  thought  he  ought  to  have 
let  you  interfere  with  it.  As  it  happened,  you  worked  in 
quite  well  with  the  mission  at  first.  Then  Fate  stepped 
in,  and  made  the  band  play  a  different  dance  tune;  no 
military  march,  but  a  love-waltz.  That  wasn't  his  fault. 
And  I  have  to  remind  you  of  all  this,  because  you're 
glaring  at  Captain  Fenton  now  as  if  he'd  done  something 
wrong  instead  of  fine,  and  he  can't  praise  himself." 

As  she  finished,  out  of  breath,  having  dashed  on  with- 
out a  single  comma,  the  giant  black  musicians  in  the 
garden  began  to  sing  a  strange  African  love  song,  in  deep 
rich  voices,  their  instruments,  which  had  played  with  pre- 
cision European  airs,  suddenly  pouring  out  their  primi- 
tive, passionate  souls. 

"Biddy  dear,"  said  the  girl  in  a  small,  meek  voice, 
"thank  you  very  much,  and  you're  just  sweet.  But  I 
didn't  need  even  you  to  defend  him  to  me.  I  was  only 
just  stopping  to  breathe,  for  fear  my  heart  would  burst, 
because  I  was  dizzy  with  too  much  joy.  I  worship  him! 
And  —  and  you  can  both  go  away  now,  please.  We  don't 
want  you." 

We  went.  Biddy  would  have  fallen  downstairs,  if  I 
hadn't  caught  her  round  the  waist.  Needless  to  say,  I 


THE  SIRDAR'S  BALL  475 

didn't  look  back;  but  Biddy  did,  and  should  by  rights 
have  been  turned  into  a  pillar  of  salt. 

"My  gracious,  but  they're  beautiful!"  she  gasped. 
"For  goodness'  sake,  let's  dash  as  fast  as  we  can,  down 
into  the  garden,  and  do  the  same  thing!" 

"What?  "I  floundered. 

"Why,  you  duffer,  kiss  each  other  like  mad!" 

Boiling  with  excitement,  when  I  met  Cleopatra  later  in 
the  ballroom,  I  told  her  what  was  going  on  above,  in  the 
moonlight,  on  the  roof. 

"At  last  your  niece  knows  what  I  think  you  have 
guessed  all  along,  but  so  wisely  kept  to  yourself,"  I  said. 
"About  Fenton,  I  mean.  It's  all  right  between  those  two 
now.  They  will  come  downstairs  engaged." 

"  Everybody  is  engaged ! "    Cleopatra  stormily  retorted. 

"That's  exactly  what  I  remarked  to  Brigit,  before  I 
could  persuade  her  to  follow  the  general  example.  'Every- 
body in  the  world  is  engaged  except  ourselves,'  are  the 
words  I  used." 

"And  except  me,"  added  Mrs.  East.  "You  forgot  me, 
didn't  you?" 

"Never ! "  I  insisted.  "You  could  be  engaged  to  a  dozen 
men  any  moment,  if  you  wanted  to." 

"I  think  you're  exaggerating  a  little,  Lord  Ernest," 
Cleopatra  replied  modestly  and  unsmilingly.  But  her 
countenance  brightened  faintly.  "Of  course  there  are  a 
few  men  —  there  were  some  in  New  York " 

"You  don't  need  to  tell  me  that,"  I  assured  her. 

"I  feel  as  if  I'd  like  to  tell  you  something  else,"  she 
went  on,  "if  you  can  spare  a  few  minutes." 


476  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"  Will  you  sit  out  the  next  dance?  "  I  asked.  " It  isn't  a 
Bunny  Hug  or  Tango,  or  anything  distracting  for  lookers- 
on." 

"Aren't  you  dancing  with  Brigit?  " 

"No  such  luck  —  I  mean,  fortunately  not.  She  has 
grabbed  Slatin  Pasha,  and  forgotten  that  I  exist.  By  jove, 
there  come  Miss  Gilder  and  Fenton.  What  a  couple! 
They're  rather  gorgeous,  waltzing  together  —  what?  " 

"Very  nice,"  said  Cleopatra,  trying  with  all  her  over- 
amuleted  heart,  not  to  be  acid.  "But  oh,  Lord  Ernest, 
that  settles  it!  I  must  be  engaged  myself,  before  Monny 
brings  him  to  show  me,  like  a  cat  with  a  mouse  it's  caught. 
Otherwise  I  couldn't  stand  it ;  and  afterward  would  be  too 
late." 

Hastily  I  rushed  her  out  into  the  garden,  where  the  Shoe- 
bill  regarded  her  with  one  eye  of  prehistoric  wisdom.  If 
she  really  were  a  reincarnation,  I'm  sure  he  knew  it :  and 
had  probably  belonged  to  her  in  Alexandria,  when  she  was 
Queen. 

"There's  a  Mr.  Talmadge  in  New  York,"  she  went  on, 
wildly.  "He  said  he  would  come  to  me  from  across  the 
world,  at  a  moment's  notice,  if  I  wired.  Only  it  would  be 
awkward  if  I  announced  our  engagement  to-night,  and 
then  found  he'd  changed  his  mind.  Besides,  he'd  be  a 
last  resort:  and  Sayda  Sabri  said  I  ought " 

"WTiy  not  wire  Sir  Marcus?"  I  ventured.  (If  his  tele- 
gram had  not  come  yesterday,  I  would  as  soon  have 
advised  Cleopatra  to  adopt  an  asp.) 

"Oh!  well  —  I  was  thinking  of  it.  That's  one  thing  I 
wanted  to  ask  your  advice  about.  I  believe  he  does  love 
me." 


THE  SIRDAR'S  BALL  477 

"Idolizes  is  the  word." 

"And  now  and  then  in  the  night  I've  had  a  feeling,  it 
was  almost  like  wasting  something  Providential,  to  refuse 
a  Marcus  Antonius.  Saydra  Sabri  warned  me  to  wait  for 
a  man  named  Antony,  whom  I  should  meet  in  Egypt. 
That's  why  I  —  but  no  matter  now.  The  'Lark'  is  a 
dreadful  obstacle,  though.  How  could  I  live  with  a  lark?  *' 

"Lady  Lark  has  quite  a  musical  lilt." 

"Do  you  think  so?  There's  one  thing,  even  if  you're 
the  wife  of  a  marquis  or  an  earl,  you  can  only  be  called 
'Lady'  This  or  That.  You  might  be  anything.  He'i 
taller  than  Antoun  —  I  mean,  Captain  Fenton.  And  hi 
eyes  are  just  as  nice  —  in  their  way.  They  quite  haunt 
me,  since  Philae.  But  Lord  Ernest,  he  has  some  horrid, 
common  little  tricks!  He  scratches  his  hair  when  he's 
worried.  If  you  look  up  his  coat  sleeves  you  catch  glimp- 
ses of  gray  Jaeger,  a  thing  I  always  felt  I  could  never 
marry.  And  worst  of  all,  when  he  finishes  a  meal  and 
goes  away  from  the  table,  he  walks  off  eating!" 

"I  don't  suppose,"  said  I,  "that  your  first  Marcus 
Antonius  ever  went  away  from  a  table  at  all  —  on  hi: 
feet;  anyhow,  while  you  were  doing  him  so  well  in  Egypt. 
He  had  to  be  carried.  7  call  Sir  Marcus  (and  I  stole  the 
Sirdar's  epithet  for  the  other  Anthony)  a  Romantic 
Figure !  His  adoration  for  you  is  a  —  a  sonnet.  There's 
no  *h'  in  his  name  to  bother  you.  And  he  fell  in  love  at 
first  sight,  like  a  real  sport  —  I  mean,  like  the  hero  of  a 
book.  If  he  has  ways  you  don't  approve,  you  can  cure 
them;  redecorate  and  remodel  him  with  the  latest  Ameri- 
can improvements.  Why,  I  believe  he'd  go  so  far  as  to  give 
his  Lark  a  tail  if  you  asked  him  to  spell  it  with  an  'e'." 


478  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"Well — I  suppose  you're  right  about  what  I'd  better  do," 
she  sighed.  "A  bird  in  the  hand  —  oh,  I'm  not  making  a 
silly  pun  about  a  lark  —  is  worth  two  in  New  York !  Please 
tell  every  one  you  see  I'm  engaged  to  Sir  Marcus,  for  he  is 
mj  bird  in  the  hand:  and  I'll  send  off  a  telegram  the  first 
thing  to-morrow  morning,  for  fear  he  hears  the  news  that 
he's  engaged  to  me,  prematurely.  Where  is  he  —  do 
you  know?" 

"By  to-morrow  he'll  be  at  Meroe  Camp,"  I  said:  But 
I  did  not  add:  "So  shall  we!" 


XXXI 
THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  GOLDEN  PYRAMID 

THERE  was  not  much  room  in  our  hearts  for  mountains  or 
gold  just  then:  yet  somehow,  before  we  left  the  Palace, 
Anthony  and  I  had  told  Brigit  and  Monny  the  secret 
which  had  been  the  romance  of  our  lives,  until  they  came 
into  it  to  paint  dead  gold  with  the  living  rose  of  love. 

Victorian  women  would  have  been  grieved  or  angry 
with  men  who  could  leave  them  at  such  a  time;  but  these 
two,  instead  of  reproaching  us,  urged  us  on.  Naturally, 
they  wanted  to  go  with  us.  They  said,  if  there  were 
danger,  they  wished  to  share  it.  And  if  there  were  to  be  a 
"find,"  they  wished  to  be  among  the  first  to  see  what  no 
eyes  had  seen  for  two  thousand  years.  But  when  An- 
thony explained  that  there  wasn't  time  to  get  tents  to- 
gether and  make  a  decent  camp  for  ladies,  even  if  we  were 
sure  not  to  tumble  into  trouble,  they  said  no  more. 
This  was  surprising  in  Monny,  if  not  in  Brigit.  I  sup- 
posed, however,  that  she  was  being  on  her  best  behaviour, 
as  a  kind  of  thank-offering  to  Providence  for  its  unexpected 
gift  of  legitimate  happiness. 

Our  secret  was  to  be  kept.  Only  the  Sirdar  knew  — 
and  gave  Fenton  leave  of  absence  for  a  few  days.  The 
Set  did  not  suspect  the  existence  of  a  mountain  at  Meroe 
more  important  than  its  neighbours.  They  did  not  even 

479 


480  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

know  what  had  become  of  Antoun  Effendi  after  he  bade 
them  farewell,  and  "good  luck."  From  the  first,  he  had 
given  it  out  that  he  must  leave  the  party  at  Khartum.  The 
object  of  returning  to  Merb'e  was  to  "meet  Sir  Marcus;" 
and  I  promised  to  be  back  in  plenty  of  time  to  organize  the 
return  trip  to  Cairo.  My  departure,  therefore,  was  all  in 
the  day's  work:  and  the  great  sensation  was  Mrs.  East's 
engagement.  Even  though,  for  obvious  reasons,  Mon- 
ny's  love  affair  was  kept  dark,  Cleopatra  could  not  resist 
parading  hers,  the  minute  her  wire  to  Sir  Marcus  had 
been  safely  sent.  I  got  an  invitation  for  all  the  members 
of  the  Set  to  a  tennis  party  in  the  Palace  gardens,  at  which 
the  Sultan  of  Dafur  and  a  bodyguard  armed  with  battle 
axes  would  be  the  chief  attraction.  Also  I  induced  the 
landlord  of  our  hotel  to  promise  special  illuminations, 
music,  and  an  impromptu  dance  for  the  evening.  This 
was  to  make  sure  that  none  of  our  friends  should  find  time 
to  see  me  off  at  the  tram.  Anthony  was  to  join  me  there, 
in  mufti,  and  might  be  recognised  by  sharp  eyes  on  the 
lookout  for  mysteries.  Once  we  got  away,  that  danger 
would  be  past:  unless  Cleopatra  told.  But  I  was  certain 
that  she  would  not  to  any  one  ever  asain  mention  the  name 
of  Antoun. 

It  was  a  full  train  that  night,  but  no  one  in  it  who  knew 
Antoun.  Many  people  who  had  been  visiting  friends  or 
staying  at  an  hotel  for  weeks,  were  saying  good-bye.  The 
narrow  corridors  of  the  sleeping-cars  had  African  spears 
piled  up  on  the  floor  against  the  wall,  very  long  and  incon- 
venient. Ladies  struggled  in,  with  rainbow-coloured 
baskets  almost  too  big  for  their  compartments.  Seats 
were  littered  with  snake-skins  like  immense,  decayed 


MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  GOLDEN  PYRAMID  481 

apple  parings;  fearsome,  crescent-shaped  knives;  leopard 
rugs  in  embryo;  and  strange  headgear  in  many  varieties. 
Stuffed  crocodiles  fell  down  from  racks  and  got  under- 
foot: men  walked  about  with  elephant  tusks  under  their 
arms;  dragomans  solicited  a  last  tip;  a  six-foot  seven 
Dinka,  black  as  ink  and  splendid  as  a  Greek  statue, 
brought  flowers  from  the  Palace  for  some  departing  ac- 
quaintance of  the  Sirdar  and  his  wife.  Officers  in  evening 
dress  dashed  up  through  the  sand,  on  donkey -back,  to  see 
the  last  of  friends,  their  mess  jackets  making  vivid  spots  of 
colour  in  the  electric  light.  All  the  fragrant  blossoms  of 
Khartum  seemed  to  be  sending  farewell  messages  of  per- 
fume on  the  cool  evening  air.  No  more  fantastic  scene 
at  a  railway-station  could  be  imagined.  If  the  world 
and  its  doings  is  but  a  moving  picture  for  the  gods  on 
Olympus  they  must  enjoy  the  film  of  "a  train  departing 
from  Khartum." 

Anthony  did  not  join  me  until  just  as  the  train  was 
crawling  out  of  the  station,  for  we  had  asked  Brigit  and 
Monny  not  to  see  us  off,  and  they  had  been  startlingly 
acquiescent.  We  had  a  two-berthed  compartment  to- 
gether, and  talked  most  of  the  night,  in  low  voices;  of  the 
mountain;  of  the  legends  concerning  it,  and  the  papers  of 
the  dead  Egyptologist  Ferlini,  which  indirectly  had  brought 
Fenton  into  Monny  Gilder's  life,  and  given  Brigit  back  to 
me.  There  was  the  out-of-doors  breakfast  party,  too,  on 
the  terrace  at  Shepheard's.  Had  it  not  been  for  this  in- 
cident Antoun,  the  green-turbaned  Hadji,  would  never 
have  been  selected  by  Miss  Gilder,  in  words  she  might  now 
like  to  forget.  "I'll  have  that! "  But,  had  not  a  distressed 
artist  called  on  me  one  morning  in  Rome,  months  ago, 


482  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

with  an  old  notebook  to  sell,  I  should  not  have  come  to 
Egypt  for  my  sick-leave;  and  none  of  us  would  have  met. 
I  had  visited  the  artist's  studio  to  please  a  friend,  and 
bought  a  picture  to  please  him  (not  myself) ;  therefore  he 
regarded  me  as  a  charitable  dilettante,  likely  to  buy  any- 
thing if  properly  approached.  Bad  luck  had  come  to  him; 
he  wanted  to  try  pastures  new,  and  needed  money  at  short 
notice:  therefore  he  wished  to  dispose  of  a  secret  which 
might  be  the  key  to  fortune.  Why  didn't  he  use  the  key 
himself?  was  the  obvious  question;  which  he  answered  by 
saying  that  a  poor  man  would  not  be  able  to  find  the  lock 
to  fit  it. 

The  notebook  he  had  to  sell  had  been  the  property  of  a 
distinguished  distant  relative,  long  since  dead;  the  Italian, 
Ferlini,  who  about  1834  ransacked  the  ruins  of  Meroe  in 
the  kingdom  of  Candace.  Ferlini  had  given  treasure  in 
gold,  scarabs,  and  jewels  to  Berlin,  all  of  which  he  had  dis- 
covered in  a  secret  cache  in  the  masonry  of  a  pyramid,  in 
the  so-called  "pyramid  field"  of  Meroe.  But  he  had 
been  blamed  for  unscientific  work,  and  in  some  quarters  it 
was  not  believed  that  he  had  found  the  hoard  at  Meroe. 
This  jealousy  and  injustice  had  prevented  Ferlini's 
obtaining  a  grant  for  further  explorations  he  wished  to 
make.  He  claimed  to  have  proof  that  in  a  certain  moun- 
tain not  far  from  the  Meroe  pyramids,  and  much  resem- 
bling them  in  shape,  was  hidden  the  tomb  of  a  Candace 
who  lived  two  hundred  years  earlier  than  the  queen  of  that 
name  mentioned  in  the  New  Testament,  mistress  of  the 
eunuch  baptized  by  St.  Philip.  In  the  notebook  which  had 
come  down  with  other  belongings  of  Ferlini  the  Egyp- 
tologist, to  Ferlini  the  artist,  was  a  copy  of  certain  Demo- 


MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  GOLDEN  PYRAMID  483 

tic  writing,  of  a  peculiar  and  little  known  form.  The  orig- 
inal had  existed,  according  to  the  dead  Ferlini's  notes, 
on  the  wall  of  an  antechapel  in  one  of  the  most  ruinous 
pyramids  at  Meroe,  decorated  in  a  peculiarly  barbaric 
Ethiopian  style.  The  wall-writing  described  the  making 
of  the  mountain  tomb,  ordered  by  Candace  in  fear  that 
her  body  might  be  disturbed,  according  to  a  prophecy 
which  predicted  the  destruction  of  the  kingdom  if  the 
jewels  of  the  dead  were  found. 

Ferlini,  a  student  of  the  Demotic  writings  which  had 
superseded  hieroglyphics,  doubted  not  that  he  had  trans- 
lated the  revelation  aright,  though  he  admitted  supplying 
many  missing  words  in  accordance  with  his  own  deduc- 
tions. He  was  in  disfavour  at  the  time  he  tried  to  organ- 
ize an  expedition  in  search  of  the  queen's  hoard,  and 
though  legends  of  the  mountain  confirmed  the  writings 
which  Ferlini  was  the  first  to  translate,  the  Italian  could 
induce  no  one  to  finance  his  scheme.  The  one  person  he 
succeeded  in  interesting  had  a  relative,  already  excavat- 
ing in  Egypt:  but  eventually  addressed  on  the  subject, 
this  young  man  replied  that  the  antechapel  in  question 
had  fallen  completely  into  ruin.  It  would  be  impossible, 
therefore,  to  find  the  wall- writing,  "if  indeed  it  ever  ex- 
isted." 

This  verdict  had  put  an  end  to  Ferlini's  hopes,  and 
nothing  remained  of  them  save  the  translated  copy  of  the 
writing  in  his  notebook  (the  missing  words  inserted)  and 
the  legends  of  the  negroes  who,  generation  after  generation 
since  forgotten  times,  had  told  the  story  of  the  "Moun- 
tain of  the  Golden  Pyramid."  Nobody,  within  the  mem- 
ory of  man,  had  ever  searched  for  the  problematical  tomb : 


484  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

and  as  tales  of  more  or  less  the  same  character  are  common 
in  Egypt,  I  did  not  place  much  faith  in  the  enthusiastic 
jottings  of  Ferlini.  However,  my  love  of  the  unknown, 
the  mysterious  and  romantic,  made  me  feel  that  the  pos- 
session of  the  notebook  was  worth  the  price  asked:  two 
thousand  lire.  When  I  had  brooded  over  it  myself,  I 
posted  it  to  Fenton  at  Khartum;  and  his  opinion  had 
brought  me  to  Egypt.  Thinking  of  the  matter  in  this 
way,  it  seemed  that  we  owed  our  love  stories  to  the  im- 
pecunious artist,  who  had  probably  spent  his  eighty  pounds 
and  forgotten  me  by  this  time.  In  a  few  hours,  or  a  few 
days,  we  might  owe  him  even  more. 

Anthony,  acquainted  with  Meroe,  its  pyramids  and 
pyramidal  mountains,  since  his  first  coming  to  the  Sudan, 
had  been  able  to  plan  out  our  campaign  almost  at  an 
hour's  notice.  He  knew  where  to  wire  for  camels  [to  take 
us  to  our  destination,  eighteen  miles  from  Kabushta],  also 
for  trained  excavators.  And  he  knew  one  who,  if  the 
white  men  were  in  ignorance,  could  tell  us  all  the  most 
hidden  happenings  of  the  desert  for  fifty  miles  around. 
This  was  the  great  character  of  the  neighbourhood,  among 
the  blacks,  the  Wise  Man  of  the  Meroitic  desert,  who 
claimed  to  be  over  a  hundred  years  old,  had  a  tribe  of  sons 
and  grandsons,  and  practically  ruled  the  village  of  Baka- 
rawiya.  For  countless  generations  his  forbears  had  lived 
under  the  shadow  of  the  ruined  pyramids.  Family  tradi- 
tion made  them  the  descendants  of  those  Egyptian  war- 
riors who  revolted  in  the  time  of  King  Psammetichus, 
migrating  from  Elephantine  Island  to  Ethiopia.  There 
they  were  well  received  by  the  sovereign,  given  lands  in 
Upper  Nubia,  and  the  title  of  Autolomi,  or  Asmack,  mean- 


MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  GOLDEN  PYRAMID  485 

ing  "Those  who  stand  on  the  left  side  of  the  King."  An- 
thony's friend  and  instructor  in  the  lore  of  legends  re- 
joiced in  the  name  of  "Asmack,"  which,  he  proudly  said, 
had  been  bestowed  on  the  eldest  son  in  his  family,  since 
time  immemorial. 

Asmack  the  old  and  wise  was  to  meet  us  at  Kabushia 
Station,  with  camels,  one  for  each,  and  one  for  Sir  Marcus,  t 
in  case  he  had  arrived  and  wished  to  ride  to  the  Mountain 
of  the  Golden  Pyramid. 

It  was  orange-red  afternoon  when  our  white  train  slowed 
down,  to  pause  for  a  moment  at  Kabushia  Station,  and  the 
first  face  we  saw  was  that  of  Sir  Marcus  Antonius  —  a 
radiant  face  whose  beaming  smile  was,  I  knew,  not  so 
much  a  welcome  for  us  as  a  sign  that  he  had  received  the 
telegram  from  Cleopatra.  He  hurried  along  the  plat- 
form to  the  steps  of  our  sleeping  car;  and  Anthony,  ready 
to  swing  himself  down  before  the  train  stopped,  pointed 
out  Asmack  not  far  off,  —  a  thin  old  black  man  who  must 
once  have  been  a  stately  giant,  but  bent  forward  now  as  if 
searching  the  earth  for  his  own  grave.  He  had  got  to  his 
feet,  from  a  squatting  position  in  the  coal-stained,  alluvial 
clay  of  this  strange  desert,  and  was  gazing  toward  us,  his 
few  rags  fluttering  in  the  warm  wind.  Beside  him  stood 
a  mere  youth  of  fifty  or  so,  and  two  or  three  young  mem 
with  several  sulky  camels. 

Sir  Marcus  began  to  shake  hands  almost  before  we  were 
on  the  platform;  and  so  did  he  engross  himself  in  us  and 
absorb  our  attention  that  none  of  us  quite  knew  when  the 
train  went  out. 

"My  dear  boys!"  he  addressed  us,  nearly  breaking  our 
finger  bones.  "Lord,  Fenton,  you're  even  better  looking 


486  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

as  a  true  Britisher  than  a  false  Arab!  But  never  mind 
that  now.  Borrow,  you're  a  trump.  I  believe  I  owe 
everything  to  you.  I  mean,  in  the  matter  of  Mrs.  East  — 
Clara.  It  always  was  my  favourite  name.  Fenton 
knows?  Thanks  for  the  congratulations.  Thanks  to  you 
both.  You  must  be  my  best  men.  What?  Can't  have 
but  one?  Well,  it  must  be  Borrow,  then,  I  suppose.  Oh, 
about  the  mountain?  Why,  of  course  you're  anxious. 
Don't  think  I  have  not  been  busy.  I  have.  Got  here  by 
special  train.  Cost  me  a  lot  of  money.  But  who  cares? 
It's  worth  it.  I  want  to  hurry  things  up,  and  get  to  Khar- 
tum. What  your  blessed  mountain  is  to  you,  that  is  a 
certain  lady  to  me." 

"What  have  you  found  out?"  I  managed  at  last  to  cut 
short  his  rhapsodies. 

"Why,  not  much,  I'm  bound  to  confess.  But  I've  had 
only  a  few  hours.  Some  one  —  heaven  knows  who  — 
came  here,  it  seems,  with  Arabs  he'd  engaged  heaven 
knows  where,  and  pretended  to  be  my  agent,  empowered 
by  me  to  work  at  the  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid, 
where  it  was  well  known  I'd  got  the  right  to  excavate. 
Well,  the  chap  was  armed  with  credentials,  and  had 
a  contract  signed  by  me,  so  the  authorities  thought  he 
was  all  right  of  course,  and  let  him  go  on.  This  was  more 
than  a  month  ago.  He  pitched  his  camp  out  by  the 
mountain,  and  nobody  disturbed  him.  Fact  is,  from 
what  I  hear,  I  don't  believe  the  excavating  men  from  the 
Liverpool  School  of  Archeology  or  whatever  you  call  it, 
thought  much  of  his  chances  of  success.  A  case  of  looking 
for  Captain  Kidd's  treasure !  He  and  his  men  were  exca- 
vating round  the  mountain,  and  he'd  engaged  some  more 


MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  GOLDEN  PYRAMID  487 

fellows  from  the  neighbourhood  to  make  the  work  go 
faster.  But  a  few  days  ago  —  not  yet  a  week  —  he  dis- 
charged the  lot,  paid  them  up  and  sent  them  off  saying 
he'd  abandoned  hope  of  finding  any  entrance  to  an  alleged 
tomb.  The  Arabs  departed  by  train;  but  the  fellows  from 
hereabouts  gossiped  a  bit,  it  seemed,  and  the  story  was 
started  that  they'd  been  got  rid  of  because  the  Boss  had 
hit  on  something,  and  wanted  to  be  left  to  himself. 

"You  haven't  told  us  yet  the  name  of  the  man,"  An- 
thony reminded  him. 

"By  Jove,  no  more  I  haven't!  I'm  so  excited  about 
sverything.  You  won't  know  it,  but  Borrow  will.  Col- 
onel Corkran." 

Anthony  gave  me  a  look.  "I  do  know  the  name,"  he 
said.  "It's  the  man  of  my  dream." 

"The  man  of  your  dream?     Corkran  a  dreamf" 

"A  dream  which  has  kept  repeating  itself  until  I  grew 
superstitious  about  it.  A  red-faced  man  with  a  purplish 
sort  of  moustache,  I  saw  coming  between  you  and  us,  or 
looking  at  me  out  of  a  dark  recess,  something  like  a  deep 
doorway.  Borrow  said  when  I  told  him,  I  was  describing 
your  man,  Corkran,  whose  place  he  took  on  your  yacht 
Candace." 

"Well,  I'm  hanged!  If  that's  not  the  rummiest  go!  I 
only  hope  he's  not  in  that  recess  or  deep  doorway  now,  if  it 
leads  into  your  mountain.  You  remember,  Borrow,  my  tell- 
ing you  he'd  been  alone  for  a  while  in  the  sitting-room  I  use 
as  an  office  at  the  Semiramis  Hotel,  and  had  had  a  good 
chance  if  he  wanted  to  browse  among  my  papers?  Well,  I 
didn't  mention  this  to  you  at  the  time,  but  an  unsigned  con- 
tract with  you  for  your  services,  in  return  for  all  my  rights  in 


488  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

the  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid,  was  lying  on  the  desk. 
(As  for  the  contract  he's  been  showing  here,  it  could  only 
have  been  for  the  trip;  but  it  showed  him  to  be  my  agent 
right  enough.)  And  there  were  two  confidential  letters 
on  my  desk:  one  from  a  man  I'd  written  to,  an  Egyptol- 
ogist chap,  saying  in  his  opinion  there  might  be  a  tomb  in 
the  mountain;  the  other,  an  answer,  not  finished,  telling 
him  I  meant  to  run  the  risk,  and  had  secured  the  rights. 
You  know  how  queer  I  thought  it,  Corkran  should  throw 
up  his  job,  which  was  paying  him  pretty  well?  But  it 
wasn't  my  business,  and  I  was  jolly  glad  to  be  rid  of  him 
as  it  happened.  Well,  here  we  have  the  mystery  ex- 
plained." 

"Not  quite  yet!  I  wish  we  had,"  I  said,  thinking  of  the 
sly  old  poacher  on  our  preserves,  who  had  perhaps  by  this 
time  skimmed  the  cream  off  the  secret.  It  was  easy  to 
guess  why  he  had  sent  away  his  workers  if,  indeed,  he  had 
imagined  himself  on  the  eve  of  a  discovery.  Rights  to  dig 
are  given  on  the  understanding  that  the  Egyptian  govern- 
ment shall  have  half  of  anything  found,  worth  the  taking. 
Corkran's  scheming  to  be  alone  must  mean  that  he  intended 
annexing  what  treasure  he  could  carry  off,  and  then  getting 
out  of  the  bad  business.  Already  six  days  had  passed  since 
the  Arabs  and  Nubians  had  left  him  alone  in  his  camp;  and 
though  it  was  lucky  that  we  had  learned  what  was  going  on, 
it  might  be  too  late  to  profit  by  the  information.  Even  if 
we  caught  Corkran  red-handed,  he  might  have  hidden  his 
spoil  where  none  but  he,  or  some  messenger,  could  ever 
find  it. 

"You'll  go  out  with  us  to  the  mountain,  Sir  Marcus?  "  I 
went  on.  "We'll  be  ready  to  start " 


MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  GOLDEN  PYRAMID  489 

But  Sir  Marcus  had  suddenly  become  deaf.  He  had 
turned  as  if  to  gaze  after  the  long  ago  departed  train. 
Instead  of  answering  me,  he  was  stalking  off  toward  a 
group  of  people  at  the  far  end  of  the  platform :  three  ladies 
and  two  men  in  khaki.  For  a  second  I  felt  an  impulse  of 
indignation.  Cheek  of  him  to  march  away  like  that,  not 
caring  much  that  we  had  been  robbed,  largely  through  his 
carelessness,  and  by  one  of  his  own  men ! 

But  the  indignation  turned  to  surprise,  sheer  incredulous 
amazement.  I  glanced  at  Anthony  to  learn  whether  he 
had  seen;  but  he  was  beckoning  the  old  wise  man  of  the 
desert.  "Fenton,"  said  I,  "it  seems  we  weren't  the  only 
passengers  to  get  off  here.  There  are  three  people  we 
know,  talking  to  two  we  don't." 

Anthony  looked.  "Great  Scott!"  said  he.  And  in  an- 
other instant  we  were  following  Sir  Marcus  hastily  along 
the  platform  to  greet  —  or  scold  (we  weren't  sure  which  it 
ought  to  be)  the  big  hatted,  green-veiled,  khaki-dressed 
but  easily  recognised  figures  of  Brigit  O'Brien,  Monny 
Gilder,  and  Mrs.  East. 

"We  couldn't  help  it,"  Monny  cried  in  self-defence 
to  Anthony,  before  he  had  time  to  reach  the  group.  "We 
knew  you  wouldn't  let  us  come,  so  we  came  —  because 
we  had  to  be  in  this  with  you.  Even  Biddy  wanted 
to  —  and  she's  so  wise.  As  for  Aunt  Clara,  I  believe 
she'd  have  started  without  us,  if  we  hadn't  been  wild  for 
the  journey.  So  you  see  how  it  was ! " 

We  did  see.  And  we  couldn't  help  rejoicing  in  their 
pluck,  as  well  as  in  the  sight  of  them,  though  it  was  all 
against  our  common  sense. 

"  We've  ordered  our  own  camels,  and  a  tent,  and  things 


490 

to  eat  and  drink,  so  we  shan't  be  any  bother  to  you," 
Monny  went  on,  as  Anthony  rather  gravely  shook  hands, 
his  eager  brows  lifted,  his  eyes  smiling  in  spite  of  himself. 
"We  couldn't  have  done  it,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Slatin 
Pasha.  We  first  went  and  confided  everything  to  him, 
because  we  knew  he  loved  adventures  and  would  be  sure 
to  sympathize.  These  gentlemen  from  the  camp  are  his 
friends,  and  they've  organized  our  little  expedition  at  his 
request.  More  than  one  person  can  use  the  telegraph, 
you  know !  And  oh,  won't  it  be  lovely  going  with  you  out 
into  the  desert !" 

It  was  not  yet  evening  when  we  set  forth;  but  it  was  the 
birth  of  another  day  when  we  arrived  within  sight  of 
Corkran's  camp.  The  tents  glimmered  pale  in  the  light 
which  comes  up  out  of  the  desert  before  dawn,  as  light 
rises  from  the  sea;  and  so  deep  was  the  stillness  that  it 
might  have  been  a  ghost  camp.  There  was  not  even  the 
howling  of  a  dog;  and  this  silence  was  more  eerie  than  the 
silence  of  sleep  in  a  lonely  place;  because  of  the  tale  a 
grandson  of  Asmack's  had  brought  to  the  village.  He  was 
one  of  the  Nubian  men  Corkran  had  engaged  to  help  his 
Arab  workmen  from  the  north;  and  when  the  whole  gang 
had  been  discharged  he,  suspecting  that  some  secret  thing 
was  on  foot,  hid  in  the  desert-scrub  that  he  might  return 
by  night  to  spy.  He  had  wished  his  brothers  to  stay  with 
him,  but  they,  fearing  the  djinns  who  haunt  the  mountain 
and  have  power  at  night,  refused,  and  begged  him  to  come 
away  lest  he  be  struck  by  a  terrible  death.  The  legend 
was  that  Queen  Candace,  the  queen  who  ordered  the  mak- 
ing of  the  tomb  —  had  been  a  witch.  When  she  died,  by 


MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  GOLDEN  PYRAMID  491 

her  magic  arts  learned  from  the  lost  Book  of  Thoth,  she 
had  turned  all  those  aware  of  the  tomb's  existence,  into 
djinns,  to  guard  the  secret  dwelling  of  her  soul.  Even  the 
great  men  of  the  court  who  by  her  wish  hid  in  the 
mountain  her  body  and  jewels  and  treasure,  became 
djinns  the  moment  they  had  closed  and  concealed  the 
entrance  to  the  tomb.  They  could  never  impart  the 
secret  to  mortals;  and  because  of  the  knowledge  which 
burned  within  their  hearts,  and  the  anguish  of  being  parted 
forever  from  those  they  loved,  the  tortured  spirits  in 
prison  grew  malevolent.  While  the  sun  (still  wor- 
shipped by  them  as  Ra)  was  above  the  horizon  they  had 
no  power  over  men,  but  the  moment  that  Ra  "died  his 
red  death"  the  djinns  could  destroy  those  who  ventured 
within  such  distance  of  the  mountain  as  its  shadow  might 
reach:  and  if  any  man  ventured  nearer  in  the  darkness 
of  night,  he  heard  the  wailing  of  the  spirits.  Camp  had 
been  pitched  beyond  the  shadow's  furthest  reach;  but  the 
night  after  the  workmen  were  discharged,  Asmack's  one 
brave  grandson  had  been  led  by  curiosity  to  approach 
the  haunted  mountain.  When  he  had  crept  within  the 
trench  most  lately  dug,  he  had  heard  the  wicked  voice  of 
the  djinns  raging  and  quarrelling  together.  There  had 
been  a  threatening  cry  when  they  knew  how  a  man  had 
defied  their  power,  and  the  Nubian  had  escaped  a  fate  too 
horrible  to  put  in  words,  only  by  running,  running,  until 
his  breath  gave  out,  and  the  sun  rose. 

This  story  gave  the  silent  desert  power  even  over 
European  minds,  as  we  came  where  the  small  camp  glim- 
mered, just  outside  the  Shadow's  wicked  circle. 

Not  one  of  Asmack's  men  would  go  with  us  to  the  tent, 


492  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

which  was  evidently  that  of  the  leader.  He  might  be 
lying  there  dead,  struck  by  the  djinns,  they  said,  and  all 
those  who  looked  upon  the  body  would  be  accursed.  The 
three  women  would  not  have  gone  to  Corkran's  tent,  even 
had  we  allowed  them  to  do  so;  and  Sir  Marcus,  already  a 
slave,  though  a  willing  one,  stayed  with  his  adored  lady 
and  her  friends,  inside  the  ring  which  the  Nubians  pro- 
ceeded to  make  with  the  camels.  Carrying  a  lighted  lan- 
tern Anthony  and  I  walked  alone  to  the  tent. 

The  flap  was  down,  but  not  fastened,  and  the  canvas 
moved  slightly  as  if  trembling  fingers  tried  to  hold  it  taut. 

"Colonel  Corkran!"  I  called  out,  sharply.  But  there 
was  no  answer. 


XXXII 
THE  SECRET 

ANTHONY  lifted  the  flap,  holding  up  the  lantern,  and  we 
both  looked  in. 

No  one  was  there  —  but  the  tent  had  the  look  of  recent 
occupation.  It  was  neatly  arranged,  as  the  tent  of  an  old 
soldier  should  be :  but  on  the  table  stood  a  half -used  candle 
stuck  in  a  bottle;  and  beside  it  a  book  lay  open,  face 
downward.  Entering  the  tent  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to 
glance  at  the  title  of  this  book.  It  was  a  learned  archeo- 
logical  treatise.  Here  and  there  a  paragraph  was  marked, 
and  leaves  dog's-eared.  Three  other  volumes  of  the 
same  sort  were  piled  one  upon  the  other.  Anthony  and  I 
had  read  all  four  during  the  last  few  months,  since  our 
minds  had  concentrated  on  the  subject  of  pyramids  and 
rock  tombs. 

"What  do  you  think  has  become  of  Corkran?"  I  said 
to  Anthony. 

"I  think  the  djinns  have  got  him,"  he  answered, gravely. 

"You  mean " 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  I  mean.  But  —  he  must 
have  hit  upon  something,  and  then  —  have  been  pre- 
vented from  coming  back." 

"  Why  should  he  have  had  such  luck,  after  a  few  weeks' 
work,  an  unscientific  fellow  like  him,  if  the  secret  of  the 

493 


494  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

mountain  has  been  inviolate  for  over  two  thousand 
years?" 

"Wait  and  see  what's  happened  to  him  before  you  call 
it  'luck,'  Duffer.  But  you  must  remember  that  nobody 
except  Ferlini  and  a  few  superstitious  blacks  ever  believed 
that  the  mountain  had  a  secret.  Incredulity  has  pro- 
tected it.  And  Corkran  had  to  work  like  a  thousand 
devils  if  he  hoped  to  get  hold  of  anything  before  he  was 
found  out.  I  believe  he  has  got  hold  of  something,  and 
—  that  it  then  got  hold  of  him.  But  we  shall  see." 

"Yes,  we  shall  see,"  I  repeated.  "And  before  long  if 
we  too  have  luck." 

"I  hope  it  won't  be  the  same  kind  as  his.  But  come 
along  out  of  this.  We  must  get  to  work  before  sunrise, 
and  try  for  a  result  of  some  sort  before  the  worst  of  the 
heat.  If  he's  found  anything,  we  ought  pretty  quickly  to 
profit  by  his  weeks  of  frantic  labour.  That,  maybe,  will 
be  our  revenge." 

We  had  to  tell  the  party  what  we  had  found  in  the  tent, 
and  what  we  meant  to  do  next.  Sir  Marcus  was  now  ex- 
cused by  Mrs.  East;  but  until  summoned  by  us  the  ladies 
were  to  remain  where  they  were,  under  shelter  of  the  tent 
which  the  camel-boys  were  getting  into  shape.  When 
exhorted  to  be  patient,  they  received  the  advice  in  sweet 
silence;  but  we  did  not  until  later  attach  much  importance 
to  this  unusual  mood.  Perhaps  at  the  moment  we  were 
too  preoccupied  to  notice  expressions,  even  in  the  eyes  we 
loved  best. 

We  took  with  us  two  men  whom  Asmack  had  provided 
as  diggers,  and  in  five  minutes  we  were  at  the  base  of  the 
little  dark,  conical  mountain  which  for  weeks  had  been 


THE  SECRET  495 

the  object  of  our  dreams.  Now,  standing  face  to  face  with 
it,  the  glamour  faded.  The  Mountain  of  the  Golden 
Pyramid  was  exactly  like  a  dozen  other  tumbled  shapes  of 
black  rock,  grouped  or  scattered  over  the  dull  clay  desert 
which  many  centuries  ago  had  been  the  fertile  realm  of 
Candace.  Why  should  a  queen  have  selected  it  from 
among  its  lumpish  fellows,  to  do  it  secret  honour?  But 
Corkran  had  had  faith.  Here  were  traces  of  what  Fenton 
called  his  "frantic  labours." 

A  parallel  trench  had  been  dug  with  the  evident  object 
of  unearthing  a  buried  entrance  into  the  mountain.  Down 
it  went  through  hardened  sand  and  clay,  to  a  depth  of 
eight  or  ten  feet;  and  descending,  we  found  as  we  expected 
to  do,  several  low  tunnels  driven  at  right  angles  toward 
the  mountain  itself.  One  after  another  we  entered, 
crawling  on  hands  and  knees,  only  to  come  up  against  a 
solid  wall  of  rock  at  the  end.  Each  of  these  burrows  rep- 
resented just  so  much  toil  and  disappointment.  But 
Corkran,  whose  undertaking  could  be  justified  even  to  his 
own  mind  only  by  success,  had  not  been  discouraged.  The 
trench  went  round  three  sides  of  the  mountain,  as  we  soon 
discovered ;  and  the  corner  of  the  fourth  f agade  not  having 
yet  been  turned,  it  seemed  a  sign  that  Corkran  had,  as 
Anthony  said,  "hit  upon  something,"  or  thought  that  he 
had  done  so.  Otherwise  he  would  not  have  discharged  his 
men  before  the  fourth  gallery  was  begun.  We  had  started 
from  the  south  because  our  camp  faced  the  long  trench  on 
that  side,  and  it  was  quicker  to  jump  into  it  than  to  walk 
round  and  examine  the  excavations  from  ground-level. 
On  the  east,  the  plan  of  the  work  was  the  same  as  on  the 
south,  except  that  the  tunnels  leading  mountainward 


496  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

were  driven  at  different  distances,  relatively  to  each  other; 
and  each  of  these  also  ended  in  a  cut  de  sac.  Now  remained 
the  trench  on  the  north  side  of  the  mountain,  which  was 
the  most  promising  direction  for  a  "find":  and  as  we  turned 
the  corner  which  brought  us  into  this  third  trench  the  sun 
rose,  making  the  sky  blossom  like  the  primrose  fields  of 
heaven. 

On  this  side,  sand  driven  by  the  northerly  wind  which 
never  rests,  had  banked  itself  high  against  the  mountain, 
and  the  excavation  had  been  a  more  serious  task.  There 
were  only  two  tunnels,  and  into  both  sand  had  fallen. 
One  was  nearly  blocked  up,  and  impossible  to  enter  with- 
out reopening;  but  we  took  it  for  granted  hopefully  that 
the  second  had  been  made  later.  This  ran  toward  the 
mountain  with  a  northeasterly  slant;  and  though  it  was 
partly  choked  by  sand,  it  was  possible  to  crawl  in.  An- 
thony insisted  on  going  first.  I  followed,  at  the  pace  of  my 
early  ancestor  the  worm,  and  Sir  Marcus  comfortably 
waited  outside.  He  wanted  to  be  a  pioneer  only  in  finan- 
cial paths;  and  after  all,  this  was  our  mountain  now.  It 
wasn't  worth  his  while  to  be  killed  in  it.  Besides,  as  he 
pointed  out,  if  anything  happened  to  us  there  must  be 
some  one  to  organize  a  rescue,  and  break  the  news  to  the 
ladies. 

Anthony  had  a  small  electric  torch,  and  I  a  lantern,  but 
going  on  hands  and  knees,  we  could  use  the  lights  only  now 
and  then.  When  we  had  crept  ahead  (descending  always) 
for  twelve  or  fifteen  feet,  Anthony  stopped.  "Hullo!"  I 
heard  him  call,  in  a  mufBed,  reverberating  voice.  "Here's 
the  reason  why  Corkran  sent  his  Arabs  away!" 

"What  is  it?  "  I  yelled,  my  heart  jumping. 


THE  SECRET  497 

"The  rock's  been  cut  back,  by  the  hands  of  men." 

"His  men,  perhaps." 

"No,  it  isn't  done  like  that  nowadays.  The  tunnel 
turns  here,  dips  down,  and  goes  on  along  this  flat  wall.  I 
bet  Corkran  always  kept  ahead  of  the  men.  When  he 
saw  this,  he  discharged  his  workers  —  And  yet,  it  may  be 
nothing  of  importance  after  all.  Only  a  flat  surface  for 
some  old  wall-inscription  such  as  Romans  and  even  Egyp- 
tian soldiers  made  constantly,  on  the  march." 

The  rumbling  voice  ceased,  as  Anthony  crawled  round 
the  turn  of  the  passage.  I  followed,  literally  close  on  his 
heels,  the  burrow  descending  like  a  rabbit-hole.  Sud- 
denly Anthony  stopped  again.  "I've  come  into  a  sort 
of  chamber  Corkran's  scooped  out,"  I  heard  him  say. 
"It's  high  enough  to  sit  up  in  —  no,  to  stand  up  in.  This 
is  the  end  of  the  passage,  I  think.  By  Jove,  look  out!" 

He  had  disappeared  in  the  darkness  behind  a  higher 
arch  in  the  roof  of  the  gallery.  As  he  cried  out,  I  slipped 
through  after  him,  slid  down  a  steep,  abrupt  slope,  and 
by  the  light  of  my  agitated  lantern  saw  Anthony  standing 
waist-deep  in  a  well-like  hole,  into  which  he  had  evidently 
stumbled. 

"Let  me  give  you  a  hand  up,"  I  said. 

"No  thank  you,"  he  answered,  in  a  tense,  excited  voice. 
"This  is  where  I  want  to  be.  Look!" 

I  looked  and  saw,  at  the  bottom  of  the  scooped-out  hole, 
a  crevice  in  the  flat  wall  of  rock  which  we  had  been  follow- 
ing down  the  passage,  after  its  turn  from  the  right  angle 
way  to  creep  along  the  mountainside.  Out  of  this  crevice 
protruded  a  large  iron  crowbar,  apparently  jammed  into 
place,  the  first  tool  we  had  seen  anywhere. 


498  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

The  chamber  in  which  I  stood,  was  littered  and  piled  up 
with  hard  masses  of  earth  which  had  been  thrown  out  of 
the  hole;  and  on  the  rough  floor  of  the  latter  I  stepped  on 
the  spade  which  had  done  the  work.  It  nearly  turned  my 
ankle  as  I  jumped  on  to  it,  but  I  hardly  felt  the  pain. 
Torch  and  lantern  showed  clearly  that  the  crevice  in  the 
wall  was  not  a  natural  crack,  but  a  man-made  opening. 
It  was  as  if  a  slab  of  rock  fitted  roughly  into  grooves  had 
first  been  lifted,  and  had  then  fallen  heavily  on  to  the 
crowbar. 

I  set  the  lantern  on  the  earthy  floor  and  its  yellow  light 
streamed  through  the  crack,  whence  the  crowbar  pro- 
truded like  a  black  pipe  in  a  negro's  mouth.  It  was  all 
darkness  on  the  other  side;  from  behind  the  screen  of 
rock,  set  in  its  deep  grooves,  came  the  strangest  sound  I 
ever  heard,  or  shall  ever  hear.  It  was  a  voice,  groaning, 
yet  it  was  not  like  a  human  voice.  The  horrid  idea 
jumped  into  my  head  that  it  was  the  howl  of  an  evil  spirit 
sitting  in  a  dead  man's  skull. 

"He's  alive  then,"  exclaimed  Anthony,  pale  in  the  sickly 
light.  "Is  that  you,  Corkran?"  he  called.  The  only  an- 
swer was  another  groan. 

"I  see  the  whole  business  now,  don't  you?"  Fenton 
said.  "This  passage  is  very  steep.  Already  it  was  far 
under  ground-level,  before  we  got  to  the  cutting  on  the 
mountain  wall,  and  it  must  have  been  under  ground-level 
for  many  centuries.  They  dug  deep  down,  to  make  the 
tomb,  and  then  covered  up  the  entrance  with  earth. 
When  Corkran  got  to  his  portcullis,  he  thought  he'd 
reached  the  reward  of  his  labours.  Well  —  so  he  had  — 
the  punishment.  Here's  the  heap  of  stone  he  used  as  a 


THE  SECRET  499 

fulcrum  for  his  lever.  The  heap  tumbled  when  he  was 
on  the  other  side,  and  the  slab  of  rock  came  down  to  trap 
him.  We'll  have  to  build  up  his  fulcrum  again,  before 
we  can  do  anything  ourselves." 

Together  we  forced  the  flat  end  of  the  crowbar  into  the 
crevice,  pressed  a  piece  of  rock  under  it,  and  exerted  all  our 
strength.  The  slab  moved  upward  an  inch  or  two,  gra- 
ting in  its  rough  grooves.  The  crack,  no  higher  than  the 
diameter  of  the  crowbar  plus  a  stone  or  two,  when  we  saw 
it  first,  was  now  twice  its  original  height.  In  went  an- 
other stone,  and  so  on.  We  worked  like  demons  in  hell, 
and  in  an  atmosphere  almost  as  hot  and  breathless.  Yet 
we  could  breathe.  Whether  all  the  air  we  got  came 
through  the  long  twisting  passage  Corkran  had  made,  or 
whether  there  were  ventilation  from  the  other  side  of  the 
rock-curtain  —  some  opening  in  an  unseen  cave  —  we 
could  not  tell.  All  we  knew  was  that  the  mountain  had  a 
secret,  and  that  the  man  who  had  tried  to  rob  us  of  our 
rights  to  it,  was  caught  in  the  trap  of  the  djinns. 

Our  "  rights ! "  How  fragile  as  spider-webs,  how  almost 
laughable  they  seemed  down  here!  Rights  we  had  bar- 
gained for  with  men,  which  they,  not  owning  them,  had 
gravely  given !  I  suddenly  realized,  and  I  think  Anthony 
realized,  as  sweating  and  silent  we  piled  up  the  fulcrum  of 
stones  thrown  down  by  the  djinns,  that  they  alone,  or  the 
sleeping  queen  they  guarded,  had  "rights"  in  this  hidden 
place. 

When  we  had  raised  the  slab  to  a  height  of  about  two 
feet  in  its  grooves,  and  had  made  sure  that  the  stones  held 
it  firmly  in  place,  we  told  each  other  that  it  was  time  to 
cross  the  threshold.  The  rock-door  was  scarcely  more 


500  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

than  a  yard  in  width,  and  we  crawled  through  in  single 
file,  Anthony  going  ahead  as  before,  with  his  torch.  I 
passed  my  lantern  in  after  him,  and  then  followed.  As  I 
crept  through  the  narrow  aperture  I  was  conscious,  among 
other  emotions,  of  vague  disappointment.  "If  this  is 
the  way  to  a  tomb,  and  the  only  way,  there  can't  be  any- 
thing very  fine  to  discover,"  I  said  to  myself.  "Why,  the 
entrance  isn't  big  enough  to  let  in  a  decent-sized  sar- 
cophagus." 

"It's  the  man  of  my  dreams  all  right,  and  he's  lying 
close  to  a  deep-set  doorway,  like  the  one  where  I've  seen 
\\]jn  often.  I  told  you  so!"  Anthony  was  saying  in  quite 
a  commonplace  voice,  as  I  picked  myself  up,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  rock-screen. 

We  were  in  a  small  chamber  more  roughly  hewn,  and 
not  so  large  as  the  inner  sanctuary  of  Abu  Simbel,  which  I 
had  such  good  cause  to  remember.  Exactly  opposite  the 
entrance  by  which  we  had  come  in  was  —  as  Anthony  had 
said  —  a  door,  deeply  set  in  the  rock  —  a  door  of  the  same 
type  as  that  through  which  we  had  passed;  and  in  the 
shadow  of  the  overhanging  arch  lay  the  heavy  figure  of 
Colonel  Corkran,  dressed  in  khaki. 

His  eyes  were  open,  but  he  did  not  stir  as  we  bent  over 
him.  Only  his  lips  moved  slightly,  as  if  he  were  making  a 
grimace. 

"He's  trying  to  ask  for  something  to  eat  or  drink,"  said 
Fenton.  "What  a  confounded  fool  I  am!  —  I've  noth- 
ing, not  even  a  flask.  Have  you?  " 

"No.  I'll  go  back  at  once  and  get  something,"  I  an- 
swered. Strange,  but  I  was  not  in  the  least  angry  with 
Corkran,  whom  I  had  been  execrating.  Perhaps  this  was 


THE  SECRET  501 

partly  because  the  impresson  that  the  djinns  had  sole  rights 
here  was  growing  stronger  every  moment.  We  were  all  in- 
terlopers, usurpers. 

Without  stopping  for  more  words,  I  turned  my  back  to 
the  secret  still  unsolved.  To  my  surprise,  however,  I  saw 
a  light  stronger  than  our  own  shining  outside  the  partly 
raised  screen  of  rock.  Getting  on  my  knees  to  crawl  out, 
my  face  almost  met  the  face  of  Monny  Gilder,  about  to 
crawl  in.  Involuntarily  I  gave  way,  and  in  she  crept  like 
a  big  baby,  Biddy  coming  after.  Then  we  laughed,  though 
I  had  seldom  felt  less  like  laughing.  And  the  echo  of  our 
laughter  was  as  if  the  spirits  laughed,  behind  our  backs. 

"  We  never  promised  we  wouldn't  come,"  Monny  hastily 
began,  before  Anthony  could  speak.  "We  just  kept  still. 
And  Sir  Marcus  thought  you  wouldn't  much  mind,  be- 
cause the  two  nicest  Nubians  brought  us  quite  safely. 
Oh,  isn't  it  wonderful?  And  to  be  here  when  you  open 
that  door!  But  —  why,  it  isn't  one  of  our  men  with  you. 
It's  —  it's  the  thief! " 

"Don't  call  him  names  now,  dearest,"  Brigit  begged. 
"Poor  wretch!  He  looks  nearly  dead.  What  a  good 
thing  we  brought  the  biscuits  and  brandy." 

"I  was  going  for  some,"  I  said.  Not  only  had  I  got  to 
my  feet  again,  but  had  helped  Biddy  to  hers,  and  An- 
thony had  snatched  his  tall  Monny  up,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
bundle  of  thistle-down.  The  Angels!  It  would  never 
have  done  to  tell  them  how  glad  we  were  that  they  had  dis- 
obeyed us.  It  was  Providence,  apparently,  not  Marcus 
Lark,  who  had  sent  them  to  the  rescue. 

"We  thought  perhaps  if  you  found  anything  interesting 
you'd  want  to  stay  with  it  a  long  time,"  explained  Monny. 


502  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"That's  why  we  brought  you  food  and  drink.  It  is  a  good 
thing  we  came,  isn't  it?" 

Fenton  and  I  did  not  answer.  Instead,  we  occupied 
ourselves  with  ministering  to  the  enemy:  a  few  bits  of 
crumbled  biscuit,  a  few  drops  of  brandy  to  moisten  them. 
He  mumbled  and  swallowed  and  choked;  and  slowly  the 
veinous  red  came  back  to  the  flabby  gray  cheeks,  with  their 
prickles  of  sprouting  beard. 

"It's  fresh  air  he  needs  now,"  said  Anthony.  "He 
won't  die  from  two  or  three  days'  fasting,  not  he!  And  it 
can't  be  more,  for  it  would  have  taken  him  days  and  nights 
of  hard  work  to  get  here,  after  his  men  were  sent  off. 
Jove,  I  believe  it's  more  funk  than  anything  else,  that's 
laid  him  low.  Thought  he  was  done  for,  and  all  that. 
Look,  there's  his  candle-lantern  upset  on  the  floor.  It 
couldn't  have  been  very  gay  for  him  when  the  light  went 
out.  Lend  a  hand,  Duffer,  and  we'll  give  him  to  the 
Nubians  the  girls  have  brought.  They'll  carry  him  to  his 
own  tent.  He  never  got  as  far  in  as  the  second  door  here, 
BO  we  needn't  search  him.  Otherwise  I  would,  like  a  shot." 

Yes,  it  was  Something  higher  than  a  mere  financier  who 
sent  the  girls  to  us  in  the  antechamber  of  the  secret.  We 
could  not,  for  their  own  sakes,  have  risked  bringing  them. 
But  here  they  were,  and  we  should  always  have  this  mem- 
ory together,  we  told  ourselves,  though  we  did  not  tell  the 
disobedient  ones.  That  would  have  been  a  bad  precedent. 
What  there  was  to  see,  they  would  see  with  us.  And  even 
the  djinns  could  not  work  harm  to  Angels. 

We  went  out  and  collected  more  stones  with  which  to 
prop  up  the  second  screen  of  rock,  which  was  not  so  thick 
as  the  first,  and  used  Corkran's  spade  to  hold  it  up  at  last. 


THE  SECRET  503 

Beyond,  was  another  roughly  hewn  chamber,  and  at  the 
far  end,  set  in  a  curiously  fitted  frame  of  wood,  a  wooden 
door,  looking  almost  as  new  as  though  it  had  been  made 
yesterday.  Anthony  flashed  his  electric  torch  over  it,  and 
we  saw  the  grain  of  deal.  There  was  a  bronze  lock,  and  a 
latch  of  strange,  crude  workmanship  which  Monny  touched 
deprecatingly.  "May  I?"  she  half  whispered.  For  to 
her  also  the  place  was  haunted.  She  seemed  to  ask  per- 
mission of  spirits  rather  than  of  her  lover.  But  the  latch 
did  not  move. 

"It  would  be  sacrilege  to  break  the  lock,"  she  said. 
"What  shall  you  do?" 

"Take  the  door  off  its  supports:  they're  not  hinges," 
Fenton  answered,  in  the  queer  low  tone  which  somehow 
we  all  instinctively  adopted.  "We've  got  one  or  two  im- 
plements may  help  to  do  the  trick." 

He  worked  cautiously,  even  tenderly:  for  this  queen's 
secret  was  our  secret  in  the  finding,  even  if  the  right  to  it 
was  in  the  keeping  of  the  djinns.  Monny  held  my  lantern, 
and  it  was  a  good  half  hour  before  Anthony  and  I  together 
could  carefully  lift  the  deal  door,  unbroken,  from  its  place. 

Still  Monny  held  the  lantern,  and  at  the  threshold  of  a 
dimly  seen  room  beyond,  we  all  drew  back:  for  on  the 
sanded  floor  were  footprints.  To  them  the  girl  pointed, 
her  eyes  turning  to  Anthony's  face,  as  if  to  ask;  "How 
can  it  be  that  any  one  came  in,  when  the  door  was  locked, 
and  there  was  that  screen  of  rock  to  raise?" 

But  as  we  looked,  over  one  another's  shoulders,  we 
realised  that  the  prints  were  not  made  by  modern  boots. 
They  were  the  marks  of  sandals;  and  they  went  across  the 
floor  to  a  thing  that  glittered  in  the  middle  of  the  room  — 


504  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

a  vague  shape  like  a  draped  coffin,  with  something  high 
an,d  pointed  on  top :  crossed  to  a  glittering  table  on  which  a 
ray  from  the  lantern  revealed  offerings  to  the  dead:  a  loaf; 
a  roasted  duck,  its  wings  neatly  tied  with  string :  cakes  and 
fruit,  all  dried  and  blackened,  but  perfect  in  form :  and  a 
saucer  of  incense,  from  which  a  little  ash  had  fallen  from 
a  ghostly  pastille  onto  the  table.  There  the  sandalled  feet 
had  paused,  while  the  incense  caught  a  spark,  and  mov- 
ing on,  had  walked  straight  to  the  door. 

A  faint  fragrance  from  perfume  jars  came  to  our  nos- 
trils: a  strange,  subtle  fragrance  still,  though  most  of  its 
sweetness  had  gone,  leaving  more  marked  the  smell  of  fat 
which  had  held  the  perfume  all  these  years,  while  civiliza- 
tions grew  up  and  perished.  The  man  who  had  lit  the 
incense  and  locked  the  door  seemed  to  have  hurried  back 
from  —  who  knew  where?  —  to  stand  behind  us,  saying 
"I  forbid  you  entrance,  in  the  name  of  the  ancient  gods!" 
We  could  not  see  him,  nor  hear  his  voice;  but  we  could  feel 
that  he  was  there,  and  something  in  us  revolted  against 
the  ruthlessness  of  disobeying,  of  forcing  our  way  into  the 
room  in. spite  of  him,  to  crush  his  footprints  with  ours. 

"Why  does  the  sand  glitter  so?"  Monny  asked. 
"Everything  glitters!  Everything  looks  as  if  it  were 
made  of  gold." 

"The  Mountain  of  the  Golden  Pyramid,"  Biddy  mur- 
mured. 

"Go  in  first,  you  two,  and  bless  the  place,"  I  said,  my 
heart  wildly  beating. 

They  obeyed  for  once,  moving  delicately  as  if  to  music 
which  ears  of  men  were  not  fine  enough  to  hear.  They 
went  hand  in  hand:  and  as  Monny  in  her  straight,  pale- 


THE  SECRET  505 

tinted  dress,  held  up  the  lantern,  I  thought  of  the  Wise 
Virgin.  When  this  room  had  last  been  lighted,  the  par- 
able of  the  Virgins  of  the  Lamps  was  yet  unspoken. 

"It  is  not  sand,"  said  Monny,  gasping  a  little  in  the 
heavy  air.  "  It  is  sprinkled  gold  dust.  Now  it  is  on  the 
soles  of  our  feet.  It  shines  —  it  shines!" 

Anthony  and  I  followed,  still  with  that  curious  sense  of 
hesitation,  as  if  we  ought  to  apologize  to  some  one.  The 
room  of  the  dead  was  very  close,  and  we  drew  our  breath 
with  difficulty  for  a  moment.  But  the  discomfort  passed. 
Mechanically  we  avoided  the  footmarks  printed  in  gold 
—  avoided  them  as  if  they  had  been  covered  by  invisible 
feet. 

Monny  was  right.  Everything  was  gold  —  and  it 
shone  —  it  shone.  Dust  from  the  terrible  mines  of  Nub, 
whence  the  convict-miners  never  returned,  lay  thickly 
scattered  over  the  rock -floor.  The  walls  of  rock  were  plas- 
tered with  gold  leaf,  as  high  as  the  low  ceiling:  and  upon 
the  ceiling  itself,  on  a  background  of  deep  blue  colour,  was 
traced  in  gold  the  form  of  Nut,  goddess  of  Night,  her  long 
arms  outspread  across  an  azure  sky  of  golden  stars. 

The  table  of  offerings  was  decorated  with  gold  in  bar- 
baric patterns,  and  the  saucer  which  held  the  burnt  pas- 
tille of  incense  was  of  gold,  crudely  designed,  but  beautiful. 
Cloth  of  gold,  soft  as  old  linen,  draped  a  coffin  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  and  hid  the  conical  object  on  the  coffin's  lid. 
On  a  sudden  half  savage  impulse  I  lifted  the  covering,  with 
a  pang  of  fear  lest  the  fabric  should  drop  to  pieces.  But 
it  did  not.  Its  limp,  yet  heavy  folds  fell  across  my  feet, 
as  I  stood  looking  at  the  wonderful  thing  it  had  concealed. 

There  was  no  sarcophagus  of  stone.    The  doors  leading 


506  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

to  the  rock-tomb  were  not  large  enough  to  have  admitted 
one.  Instead,  there  was  an  extraordinarily  high,  narrow 
coffin  or  mummy -case,  richly  gilded,  and  decorated  with 
intricate  designs  different  from  any  I  had  seen  in  the 
museum  at  Cairo.  The  top  of  the  case  represented  the 
figure  of  a  woman,  with  a  smiling  golden  face,  painted  lips 
and  hair.  But  the  strangeness  and  wonder  were  under  the 
long  eyelids,  and  in  the  woman's  hands.  The  slanting 
eyes  had  each  an  immense  cabuchon  emerald  for  its  iris, 
set  round  with  brilliant  stones  like  diamonds,  curiously 
cut.  A.nd  the  carved,  gilded  hands  of  wood,  with  realistic 
fingers  wearing  rings,  were  clasped  round  a  pyramid  of  gold. 
This  it  was  which  had  betrayed  its  conical  shape  through 
the  drapery  of  gold  cloth. 

The  opening  in  the  miniature  pyramid  was  not  con- 
cealed. There  was  a  little  door,  guarded  by  a  tiny  golden 
sphinx;  and  on  the  neck  of  the  sphinx,  suspended  by  a 
delicate  chain,  was  a  bell. 

"It  is  to  call  the  spirit  of  the  queen,  if  a  profane  touch 
should  violate  her  tomb,"  Fenton  said,  dreamily.  He  was 
beginning  to  look  like  a  man  hypnotized.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  close  air,  with  its  lingering  perfume  of  two  thousand 
years  ago.  Perhaps  it  was  something  else,  more  subtile; 
something  else  that  we  could  all  feel,  as  one  feels  the  touch 
of  a  living  hand  that  moves  under  a  cloak. 

No  one  spoke  for  an  instant.  I  think  we  hah*  expected 
the  bell  to  ring.  Then  Fenton  said:  "Monny,  you  and 
Mrs.  O'Brien  must  choose  which  is  to  have  the  privilege 
of  finding  out  the  secret  of  the  golden  pyramid.  The 
Duffer  and  I  want  it  to  be  one  of  you." 

"Oh  no,  not  I!"  cried  Monny,  almost  angrily. 


THE  SECRET  507 

"Nor  I,"  Biddy  firmly  echoed. 

"Duffer,  the  papers  were  yours.  Will  you " 

Anthony  began. 

"No  —  I  —  It  was  your  faith  in  the  mountain  that 
brought  us  to  it,"  I  reminded  him.  "It  ought  to  be 
you " 

"If  —  if  it  ought  to  be  anyone  of  us,"  Monny  broke  in, 
with  a  little  breathless  catch  in  her  voice. 

"If  —  But  what  do  you  mean?"  Anthony  turned  an 
odd,  startled  look  upon  the  girl. 

"I  —  hardly  know  what  I  mean.  Only  —  I  couldn't 
touch  anything  here.  They  are  —  hers.  They've  been 
hers  for  two  thousand  and  two  hundred  years.  I  never 
thought  I  should  feel  like  this.  I'd  rather  drop  dead,  this 
minute,  than  try  to  take  that  little  pyramid  out  of  those 
golden  hands.  They've  clasped  it  so  long !  She  wanted  so 
much  to  keep  the  secret.  Anthony  —  this  is  the  strong- 
est feeling  that  ever  came  into  my  heart  —  except  love 
for  you,  this  feeling  that  —  we  have  no  right  • —  that  it 
would  be  monstrous  to  rob  —  this  queen." 

"It  wouldn't  be  robbing,"  Anthony  said,  heavily, 
"we  have  the  right " 

"Oh,  I  wonder?"  Biddy  whispered. 

"What  would  become  of  museums  if  everybody  felt 
as  you  suddenly  feel  —  or  think  you  feel?"  Fenton  went 
on.  "If  it  were  wrong  to  open  tombs,  the  best  men  in 
Egypt " 

"Not  wrong,  perhaps,"  Monny  explained,  "but  —  oh, 
I'm  sure  you  understand.  I'm  sure  in  your  hearts  you 
both  —  you  men  —  feel  just  as  we  do  now  we're  in  this 
wonderful  secret  place.  That  something  forbids  —  I  don't 


508  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

know  whether  it's  something  in  ourselves  or  outside,  but 
it's  here.  It  says  "No;  whatever  others  do,  you  cannot 
do  this  thing."  If  you  didn't  feel  it,  you  would  have 
taken  the  pyramid  out  of  those  poor  hands,  and  tried  to 
tear  off  the  rings,  and  open  the  coffin  itself,  to  get  at  the 
mummy.  But  you  haven't  —  either  of  you.  You  don't 
want  to  do  it.  You  can't!  I  dare  one  of  you  to  tell  me 
it's  only  for  Biddy  and  me  that  you've  kept  your  hands 
off." 

"We've  come  a  long  way,  and  have  done  a  good  deal  to 
find  this  secret  that  we  expected  Egypt  to  give  us,"  I  said, 
dully,  instead  of  answering  her  challenge. 

Monny  had  no  argument  for  me.  She  turned  to  An- 
thony. 

"The  secret  you  expected  Egypt  to  give!"  she  echoed. 
"  And  hasn't  Egypt  given  you  a  secret?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Anthony,  "Egypt  has  given  us  a  secret: 
the  greatest  secret  of  all.  But " 

"Is  there  a  'but'?  I  wonder  if  that  isn't  the  only  secret 
which  one  can  open  and  learn  by  heart,  without  breaking 
the  charm?"  Biddy  seemed  to  be  speaking  to  herself, 
but  we  heard.  "  The  secret  of  love  goes  on  forever  being 
a  secret,  doesn't  it,  the  more  you  find  out  about  it,  just  as 
the  world  and  its  beauty  grows  greater  and  more  wonder- 
ful the  higher  you  climb  up  a  mountain?  But  other 
secrets !  —  You  find  them  out,  and  they're  gone,  like  a 
bright  soap  bubble.  Nothing  can  mend  broken  ro- 
mance!" 

"If  we  didn't  touch  anything  here,  what  a  memory  this 
would  be  to  carry  away!"  Monny  said.  "Don't  you 
remember,  Anthony,  my  saying  once  how  I  loved  to 


THE  SECRET  509 

dream  of  all  the  beautiful  lost  things,  hidden  beneath  the 
sea  and  earth,  never  to  be  found  while  the  world  lasts,  and 
stuck  miserably  under  glass  cases?  You  said  you  felt 
the  same,  in  some  moods.  I  love  those  moods!" 

"I  felt  —  I  feel  —  so  about  things  in  general,"  An- 
thony admitted.  "  It  was  my  romantic  side  you  appealed 
to " 

"Have  you  a  better  side?" 

"No  better,  but  more  practical.  This  isn't  'things  in 
general.'  It's  a  thing  particular,  personal,  and  definite. 
If  we  should  be  quixotic  enough  not  to  take  what  we've 
earned  the  right  to  take,  we  should  be  called  fools.  In- 
stead of  claiming  our  half,  the  Egyptian  government 
would  get  all " 

"Let  it! "  Monny  cried.  "A  government  is  a  big,  cold, 
soulless  —  impersonality !  It  never  could  know  the  thrill 
that's  in  our  blood  this  wonderful  minute  —  or  miss  the 
thrill  if  it  were  destroyed.  Do  you  mind  being  called  a 
fool,  Anthony  —  and  you,  Lord  Ernest?  " 

Anthony  was  silent;  but  something  made  me  speak. 
"I  don't  mind.  You  know,  I've  always  been  a  Duffer." 

"Our  future  largely  depends  on  this,"  Fenton  persisted, 
with  a  conscientious  wish  to  persuade  us  —  and  himself. 

"I  believe  it  does!"  Monny  strangely  agreed  with  him. 

"'What  do  you  mean? "  Anthony's  voice  was  suddenly 
sharp  with  some  emotion;  which  sounded  more  like  anx- 
iety than  anger.  "Do  you  mean,  that  if  Ernest  Borrow 
and  I  insist  on  our  rights  to  whatever  treasure  is  hidden 
here,  you  and  Mrs.  O'Brien  will  think  less  of  us?  " 

"  Not  less.  Nothing  you  could  do  would  make  us  think 
less,  after  all  that  has  happened  to  us,  together.  But  — 


510  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

could  it  ever  be  as  it  has  been  —  as  beautiful,  as  sweet, 
with  all  the  dearest  kind  of  romance  in  our  thoughts  of 
you?  You  see,  you  have  the  glory  of  finding  the  secret. 
Queen  Candace  saved  it  for  you.  She  wouldn't  give  it  to 
such  a  man  as  Colonel  Corkran.  She  knew  he  wouldn't 
respect  her.  Maybe  she  hoped  you  would.  I  seem  to 
hear  her  saying  so.  All  this  gold,  and  the  treasure  we 
haven't  seen,  is  hers.  It's  been  hers  for  more  than  two 
thousand  years.  Why  should  we  steal  it?  We  aren't 
a  horrid,  cold  Government.  It  won't  be  our  fault,  what- 
ever a  Government  may  choose  to  do.  She'll  know  that, 
and  so  shall  we.  Besides,  we  can  beg  to  have  the  tomb 
kept  like  this  for  the  great  shrine  of  Merb'e.  Our  mem- 
ory of  this  place  can't  have  the  glamour  torn  away  what- 
ever happens.  Nothing  sordid  will  come  between  it 
and  us,  as  it  would  if  —  why,  after  all,  where's  the  great 
difference  between  opening  the  coffin  of  a  woman  dead 
thousands  of  years  ago,  or  a  few  months?  Supposing 
people  wanted  to  dig  up  Queen  Elizabeth,  to  see  what  had 
been  buried  with  her?  Or  Napoleon?  What  an  outcry 
there'd  be  all  over  the  world.  This  poor  queen  is  defence- 
less, because  her  civilization  is  dead,  too.  Could  you 
force  open  the  lid  of  her  coffin,  Lord  Ernest,  and  take  the 
jewels  off  her  neck?" 

"Just  now,  I  feel  as  if  I  couldn't,"  I  confessed  humbly. 

"And  you,  Anthony?  What  if  /  died,  and  asked  to 
have  the  jewels  I  loved  because  you'd  given  them,  put  on 
my  body  to  lie  there  till  eternity,  and " 

"Don't,"  Anthony  cut  her  short.  '* There  are  some 
things  I  can't  listen  to  from  you." 

"And  some  things  you  can't  do.    You  may  think  you 


THE  SECRET  511 

could,  but  —  Go  and  take  the  golden  pyramid  out  of  those 
golden  hands  if  you  can!" 

"I  shall  not  take  it,"  said  Anthony,  "I  shall  never  take 
it  now.  You  must  know  that." 

"I'm  not  saying  I  shan't  go  on  loving  you  if  you  go 
against  me.  I  shall  love  you  always.  I  can't  help  that. 
But " 

"That's  it:  the  'but'.  Let  it  all  go!  At  least,  we've 
had  the  adventure.  And  we've  got  Love.  I  don't  want 
the  treasure,  now.  Or  the  secret.  I  give  up  my  part  in 
them  forever." 

"Forme?" 

"Yes,  for  you.     But  there's  something  more." 

"Another  reason?" 

"I  think  so.  Frankly,  it  isn't  all  for  you.  Only,  you've 
made  me  feel  it.  Without  you,  I  might  have  felt  it  —  but 
too  late.  If  there's  a  drop  of  Egyptian  blood  in  my  veins 
—  why,  yes,  it  must  be  that,  telling  me  the  same  thing 
that  you  have  told.  This  Egyptian  queen  may  lose  her 
treasure,  and  must  lose  her  secret;  but  it  won't  be  through 
me." 

"And  because  you  wouldn't  steal  them,  she  has  given 
you  the  secret  and  the  treasure,  the  best  of  both,  with  her 
royal  blessing,"  Biddy  said.  "This  is  what  Ferlini's  papers, 
and  the  legends,  really  meant  for  you  and  Ernest.  Every- 
thing that's  happened,  not  only  in  Egypt,  but  in  our  whole 
lives,  has  been  leading  up  to  the  discovery  of  the  Treasure 
and  the  Secret  that  we  can  take  without  stealing.  Do  you 
know  what  I'm  talking  about?  And  if  you  do,  was  it 
worth  coming  so  far  to  find  —  this  treasure  that  I  mean, 
and  this  secret?" 


512  IT  HAPPENED  IN  EGYPT 

"We  know  very  well,"  Anthony  said,  "and  you  know 
that  we  realize  it  was  worth  journeying  to  the  end  of  the 
world  for  —  or  into  the  next." 

"Or  into  the  next!"  Monny  echoed.  "Here  we're  on 
the  threshold  of  the  next.  That's  why  the  Queen's  bless- 
ing feels  so  near." 


THE   END 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACI  JY 


A    001428186    9 


